


Thanks for the Ride

by LordValeryMimes



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2018-04-29 18:58:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 41,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5138930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordValeryMimes/pseuds/LordValeryMimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Lister hadn't just been driving a cab, when he first met Rimmer on Mimas? A re-imagining of Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-telling of Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers, with a slight twist. This is a work in progress, and will be several chapters long once it's completed. If I manage to complete it. Fingers crossed.
> 
> Thanks to Janamelie for offering to beta this whole thing as it progresses. You're fantastic!
> 
> Thanks to Rob Grant and Doug Naylor for inventing these characters so I could make them get up to all sorts of smeg.

The hopper jittered to an epileptic stop as Lister shifted the gearbox into neutral and wrestled with the parking brake. He let out a grateful sigh, as he always did when he arrived at a destination in one piece.

Lister hammered his fist against the driver's side window and jiggled the stubborn switch, until the glass slid down with a tired groan. He hoisted himself up so he was sitting in the open window, his arms resting on the roof of the Mimian taxi. He pulled a cigarette from one of the flaps on his deerstalker hat and lit it, taking care to shield the flame from the breeze kicked up by the numerous shuttles and transport vessels.

The area was known as the docks, but that was just a colloquial term. In reality, the docks were more of a spaceport. Every day hundreds of ships would touch down on Mimas, to vomit out their various cargos on the unsuspecting moon.

Lister shifted his hat down tighter on his head as an arriving shuttle kicked up a dusty gust. This was what he'd been waiting for. The shuttles stuck to a fairly regular schedule, and he was hoping that this might be his lucky day. It was Saturday, and that was a particularly good day to catch astros who were popping out for planet leave. Nearly every vessel that came in to dock at Mimas, was boiling over with men and women, all anxious for a taste of freedom after months of being confined to a spaceship, all keen to spend several months wages of dollar-pounds. And, Lister hoped, all exceptionally horny.

Lister sucked in a pleasant lungful of smoke as he contemplated what his life had become on Mimas. He never imagined that he’d find himself working in the sex-trade, but if he was being honest with himself, life could (and had) been much worse. When he’d first found himself stranded on Mimas, he’d struggled to make ends meet by stealing hoppers and earning a few dollar-pounds from taxi fares. He’d considered it a stroke of blind luck when one of the hoppers he'd stolen, had turned out to be a sex-trade hopper.

They were affectionately nicknamed "humpers", and had been outlawed on Mimas. Initially the jumping sex-wagons were thought to be a boon to the moon's struggling economy, but then complaints from the many Mimian brothels who frowned at the competition, and numerous safety concerns, had caused them to be banned. All it took was an unfortunately placed limb near the gearbox during a moment of delirious ecstasy, to cause mid-air collisions that led to more accidental deaths than the Mimian traffic cops cared to deal with. The government had cracked-down hard on humpers, but there were still a few in operation that had managed to slip by the authorities, undetected. This was good news for Lister, because whoever had owned the humper before him, would never report it as stolen. The humper was as good as his.

The wind whipped Lister’s locks across his neck as another shuttle flew in. If he was lucky, someone on one of these ships would be carrying a fat wallet, and a taste for boyish good looks. It amazed him how much money he’d been able to make, selling himself for sex. Collecting taxi fares had enabled him to survive on Mimas, but it would have taken him years to save up enough cash to get back to earth. With the money he’d been making from the sex-trade, he was set to get himself home, in just another couple of months.

A thin trail of smoke slid from between Lister’s parted lips and he rubbed at his temple thoughtfully. Being a gigolo had had it’s ups and down of course, but he was surprised by how much he had grown to enjoy selling his body. Certainly in an ideal universe he’d never have chosen to whore himself out, but this was hardly the ideal universe. He’d had his fair share of lumps, but he preferred having an active sex-life, to what he'd enjoyed previously, which was no sex life at all. And the conditions could have been a lot worse. Mimas had a decent health-care system in place, to keep the large population of sex-workers in top condition. Free clinics offered inoculations against any and all STIs that one might contract, so he didn’t have to worry about risking his health. Plus, he had to admit that working in the sex trade was somewhat satisfying. It gave him something of an ego-boost when he left another customer happy and sated. Maybe he wasn’t doing anything noble enough to get him an entry in the history books, but at least he’d found something that he was actually good at.

Trails of happy astros began to spill from the gates of the docks, and Lister pulled himself back into the car to give his reflection the once-over in his rear-view mirror. He slid his hands over his tight curls, and flashed what he considered to be one of his more dashing looks. He smiled approvingly at the mirror. He was ready.

Lister stepped out of the humper, and leaned back against the door casually, his cigarette dangling from his fingers. He found this pose always seemed to pull in the most customers. It probably had something to do with the fact that it drew attention to the first-class packet he was smuggling in his trousers. He let his eyes scan across the crowd, wondering who might be his first customer of the day. There was a pretty redhead with a bob haircut shimmying her way towards the line of waiting taxis. Lister pulled himself up straight, and pushed his chest out, hoping to catch her eye. Her gaze met Lister's, and she flashed him a small, but delightful smile. Lister grinned back at her, but then a nasally voice made the smile drop from his face.

"A hundred and fifty-second and third." The voice brayed before Lister heard the sound of his hopper door slamming.

Lister swiveled on his heels, and caught a glimpse through the back window of a mustachioed man wearing what looked like a blue officer's uniform.

"Smeg." Lister grumbled under his breath, as he turned and saw the pretty redhead disappearing into another taxi. He opened the driver's side door, and leaned in to inspect his new customer. Lister amended his early impression of the man from "mustachioed" to, "most definitely _not_ mustachioed". The man looked to be in his late twenties, but it was hard to determine since a good third of his face was covered by a very conspicuous false mustache. The man nervously smoothed down the edges of it as he looked back at Lister.

"A hundred and fifty-second and third," he repeated, his disguise puffing out comically at each word. Lister had to bite back a snigger as he slipped into the driver's seat. Apart from the erroneous mustache, the man looked decent enough. He was no super model, but he appeared to be clean and the uniform looked like it might be covering a decent enough body. Lister could have, and had done worse.

"Off to a brothel then?" Lister queried as he shifted gears. Lister could practically feel the man's discomfort radiating from him as he spluttered.

"Certainly not. I am an officer of the Space Corps. and I don't make it a habit to visit houses of ill repute."

"You do realize that one hundred and fifty-second and third is the dead center of the red light district, yeah? There's really nothing else there apart from whore houses, android brothels, and Turkish bathhouses."

"I'm..." The man stuttered as he smoothed down his mustache. "I'm meeting a friend somewhere."

"Look man," Lister shifted back into neutral and turned to look at the stranger. "If a good time is what you're looking for, I can help you out."

The man paused as he looked from side-to-side suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

Lister assessed the man's mannerisms and demeanor, as he tried to determine what would be the best way to hook him. The man was obviously new to this sort of thing, clearly nervous and fearful of being caught. This would probably be easy.

"I'm guessing that you're not from around here, and you may not know that the red light district is the roughest part of this town. I've seen guys twice your size leave a brothel with their wedding tackle in a Chinese takeaway box because they smegged off the wrong person."

The man's expression went chalky as he pinched his legs together.

"You don't want to go messing around in the red light district if you can avoid it, especially not on your own. But like I said, if all you're after is a good time, I can certainly help you out." Lister waggled his eyebrows at the man and flashed the grin that he'd spent so much time perfecting in the mirror. It was small and nonthreatening, sincere looking, and utterly charming.

The man's right knee began to jiggle up and down as he looked back at Lister. After a long silence he asked, "What did you have in mind?"

He had a bite, now Lister just had to be careful while he reeled him in. "This is a sex hopper, it's fully kitted out with anything you could want. And I am _very_ good at giving people what they want."

"You?" The man's false mustache partially detached as he snorted. "If I go to a brothel I can get whatever I like. Why would I pass that up for you? No offense, but you don't look like you've got much to offer."

"Oh believe me, I've got more than enough to offer." Lister smirked the sort of a smirk that only those men who are gifted with monstrous-sized sexual organs, are able to smirk. It was one of the things that worked in his favor as a sex-worker. Not only did he ooze confidence, he also had the goods to back it up.

The man's eyes flitted from side-to-side as he pawed at his mustache. "Why should I trust you? How do I know you're legit? What's to stop you from mugging me at knife point and leaving me penniless in a ditch?"

"Oh I dunno," Lister crooned. "I don't think I'd be likely to get away with any funny business with the likes of you. You look like more than enough man to take on someone like me." The man puffed his chest out and Lister felt a fresh surge of confidence. This guy was easier to read than Dick & Jane. "Besides," Lister continued as he cocked his head to the side and gazed up at the stranger through his long lashes. "I think you're cute. I'm thinking it'd be a lot more fun having it off with you."

The man flushed a pretty shade of pink behind his mustache and Lister smiled as he could feel the fish getting ever closer to his net.

"So how about it then? You up for some fun or what? You know I don't usually do this, but I'd be willing to reduce my fares a bit because you look like a nice guy. What do you say?"

The man's leg vibrated like a jackhammer as he thought. "What sort of price are we talking here?"

"Twenty for a handy, fifty for a blowy, a hundred to go all the way." These were Lister's usual fares, but the mustachioed stranger didn't need to know that.

"That much?" The man grimaced slightly as he yelped.

"You'll not find better prices on Mimas," Lister lied. "They'll charge you three times that at the android brothels."

The stranger gave up trying to smooth his mustache down, and it waved like a flag as he let out a sigh.

"All right," he murmured quietly. "But I want you to know, I don't normally do this sort of thing."

"Of course not," Lister replied amicably. "Nothing wrong with getting a bit lonely from time to time and wanting some company." Lister turned and shifted the hopper back into gear. "By the way, what's your name, love?" The bits of the man's cheeks that were visible flashed a deeper pink in Lister's rear view mirror.

"Er... Christopher. Christopher Todhunter."

"I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun together Chris," Lister purred as the hopper leapt into traffic.


	2. Chapter 2

Once again, Lister let out a sigh of relief as he parked the hopper behind the warehouse of Pedro’s Pinata Palace. Christopher Todhunter however, let out a series of expletives as he rubbed at several sore spots on the crown of his head.

 "You're a smegging lunatic! Do you know that? You could have killed me!"

"Oh c'mon now, Big Man. I'm sure you're used to handling worse than that. A high-flying astro like you, you're probably tough as nails." Lister's customer sat back in his seat, immediately placated by the praise. "Like shooting fish in a barrel," Lister thought as he looked him up and down appreciatively. The roof of the hopper had roughed-up the man's auburn curls, and it had increased his attractiveness remarkably.

"So, how do we go about doing this?" The astro asked as he stammered and shifted nervously under Lister's gaze.

"Well first there's the matter of payment. I require cash upfront."

Christopher Todhunter pulled out a crisp leather wallet that was clearly stamped with the name Arnold J. Rimmer. Lister smirked as Rimmer fished around in his wallet for some notes.

"How much was it for..." Rimmer licked trembling lips as he whispered, "A blow job? 

"That'll be fifty love," Lister said with a smile. "Satisfaction guaranteed."

"For fifty dollar-pounds it had better smegging well be," the man grumbled as he handed Lister a fastidiously crisp note.

"Cheers, darling," Lister said as he tucked the note into his hat before setting it on the dash.

"Now why don't I make this place a little more comfortable?" Lister reached under the dash and flicked a hidden switch. The cabin was filled with an electric whirring sound as the windows darkened and the passenger and driver seats began to flatten and spread out. Rimmer shifted nervously as the seat beneath him slowly lowered to the floor of the hopper. The cheap faux-leather upholstery shimmered and switched to a sumptuous red satin. Mood lights cast a scarlet glow and some soft, smooth jazz began to play from hidden speakers. The interior of the humper had been effectively turned into a king-sized bed that wouldn’t have looked out of place at a cheesy bed and breakfast geared towards honeymooning couples.

Rimmer scrunched up his face as he tipped his ear towards the music. “You don’t have Hadyn’s Symphony number ninety-four do you?”

“Sorry, love. Never heard of that one. The jazz station’s the only one with decent reception.” Lister pulled a few matching satin pillows from a hidden cubby and tossed them in a comfortable pile against the seat-back. He slid across the cushioned expanse and pressed his hip against Rimmer's. The astro flinched at the contact as his eyes bounced around the inside of the humper, staring at everything but the man he'd just paid fifty dollar-pounds to suck him off. His right leg jiggled like the needle of a sewing machine as he wrung his hands together. 

"You all right there, man?" Lister stroked his hand soothingly along Rimmer's thigh. "You seem a bit nervous."

"Nervous? Me? Why would I be nervous?" His words tumbled over one another as they raced from his lips. "It's not like this is my first time doing this or anything."

"But I thought you said you don't normally do this sort of thing?"  

"Right. I mean yes. I mean..." Rimmer began to splutter and Lister held a finger up to his lips.

"Shh. Look, we can go as slowly as you want, love. I'm just here to make you happy, OK? Just try and relax, yeah? I'm not going to bite, unless that's something you're into." Lister grinned as he winked.

Rimmer's false mustache flared out from his upper lip as he let out a large sigh and sank down into the satin upholstery.

"We've got to do something about this though," Lister smiled as he reached out his fingers and slowly pulled the mustache from Rimmer's upper lip. He sat back as he got his first look at his undisguised trick. He was younger looking than Lister had first guessed. Possibly not much older than Lister himself. A pair of soft-looking lips glimmered underneath a large, but not unattractive looking nose. Two expressive hazel eyes topped everything off, and the overall effect created a face that was maybe not classically handsome, but surprisingly appealing.

Lister smiled at his client, as he looked him over. "I mean I may not be a personal stylist, but I think you look much better without this thing on." Rimmer stammered while Lister turned and stuck the mustache to the front of his deerstalker hat.

"Well one can't be too careful when one is an officer." Rimmer's attempt at bravado fell flat as his voice began to tremble slightly. "It... wouldn't be good for my... career to be caught getting up to any... funny business."

"Of course not, I understand perfectly. A big-time astro like you probably has quite a reputation to protect, yeah?" Lister leaned in again and brushed his full lips against the side of Rimmer's neck.

The astro cleared his throat and stiffened at the touch, his palms planted as firmly as tree trunks on the tops of his thighs. "I just want you to know," Rimmer flinched as Lister's tongue snaked out to lick at the edge of his jaw. "I meant it when I said that I've never done anything like this before. I really haven't."

Lister grabbed Rimmer's necktie and pulled him close. The astro squeaked as Lister began to undo the knot. He fixed Rimmer with one of his softest, most understanding expressions. "Of course you haven't, love. Not to worry, I'll take good care of you, Chris. I promise."

Rimmer's posture softened as Lister removed the tie from around his neck. "What's your name, by the way?"

"It's Dave," Lister smiled as he pushed Rimmer's jacket off of his shoulders and felt the firm, wiry muscles underneath the fabric of his uniform. "I think I'd best make myself a bit more comfortable too." He pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. Rimmer sat stiffly, his eyes nervously flitting back and forth between Lister's naked chest, and the blacked-out windscreen.

"Man," Lister thought. "This guy's going to give himself a coronary, he's so keyed-up." He stroked a finger along the side of Rimmer's face and tried to make his voice low and soothing. "Why don't you just settle back, and close your eyes?" Rimmer sucked in a breath, and obeyed, letting his body sink deeper into the satin cushions as he exhaled.

Lister propped his head up on his elbow, and used the tip of his index finger to trace a line along Rimmer's lips. The man trembled slightly at the touch. Lister ran his fingers through the jumble of curls at the top of Rimmer’s head, and pressed his lips against the hot skin of his neck. “I really like you, Chris,” he mumbled in between kisses as he stroked his hand along the side of Rimmer’s face. “I want you to have a good time with me. I think you’re gorgeous, and I can’t wait to see you out of this uniform. I can’t wait to feel you in my mouth and taste you.” Rimmer moaned and Lister took the opportunity to pull the man to him and kiss him. He slid his tongue between the shaking lips and Rimmer kissed him back clumsily and urgently. Lister pulled away and Rimmer opened his eyes, his pupils wide with arousal. As Lister stared back at him, he raised his hand to grip the back of Rimmer’s neck and moaned, “I want you, Chris.” The move was cheap and cliched, but marvelously reliable. It had the desired effect, as Rimmer’s nervousness seemed to lessen. He raised his hands and pulled Lister to him, kissing him again, the shaking in his lips finally starting to subside.

Lister made quick work of the buttons on Rimmer’s shirt, and peeled the starched fabric away from his body. He admired the taut muscles on Rimmer’s slender frame as he kissed and licked his way down the man’s chest. Lister inhaled the subtle scent of soap and cheap aftershave that clung to the astro's skin, and was surprised to find that he was starting to get aroused himself. Not that it was rare for him to get turned on during a trick, but usually his cock waited until it was touched to start responding. He dragged his tongue along the downy hairs below Rimmer's navel as he started to undo the man's trousers.

"Oh god." Rimmer murmured as he watched, unable to take his eyes off of Lister's movements. Lister grinned as he felt the heat from Rimmer's erection through the cotton fabric of his boxers. He pawed Rimmer’s length through his pants, thrilled at the firmness. The astro threw back his head and raised his hips as Lister pulled his shorts down.

Rimmer’s cock was much like the rest of him: attractive, slender, and fastidiously well-groomed. He shifted nervously as Lister slid his trousers down fully. Lister positioned himself between Rimmer's legs and gazed up at the astro, a flirty smile on his lips. "Smeg, Chris. You're so damn sexy, do you know that?"

"Really?" Rimmer blurted out in disbelief.

"Oh yeah, man. Just feel how hard you're making me." He took Rimmer's hand and pressed it against the large bulge that was growing in his trousers. The man gawped in surprise at the massive handful, and his own cock dipped in an appreciative bow. Lister pulled Rimmer into a kiss and simultaneously closed his fist around the astro’s erection. He gave a long slow pull and Rimmer moaned as Lister slithered down until his mouth was in line with Rimmer’s prick.

The first touch of Lister's lips against him made Rimmer hiss as he gripped onto fistfuls of satin. “Oh god,” he gasped as he pressed himself further into Lister’s mouth. “Oh god, that feels incredible.”

“Didn’t I tell you I’d take care of you?” Lister murmured before pressing kisses down Rimmer’s entire length. It didn’t take long before the astro was bucking his hips into Lister’s mouth, and shouting out a stream of expletives. Lister kept his lips wrapped securely around Rimmer’s prick as it spasmed, swallowing and sucking every last drop until the man began to whimper. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, Lister climbed up beside Rimmer. The astro lay, his chest heaving, and his mouth lolling as he fixed Lister with an astonished stare.

“That was…” he struggled to find words as he turned his head to gaze up at the hopper ceiling.

“Didn’t I tell you I was good at giving people what they want? Never underestimate a Scouser, Chris.” Lister winked, as he dragged a finger across Rimmer’s chest.

 “It’s… Arnold actually. You can call me Arn, or Arnie. If you like. I… I don’t know how these sort of things usually work.” Rimmer finished awkwardly as the movements of his chest began to slow.

“They work however you want them to work, Arn. That's a nice name by the way. It suits you.” Lister smiled as he ruffled the curls on the top of Rimmer’s head. He was surprised by how much he was enjoying this little dalliance. "Not a bad way to earn fifty dollar-pounds," he thought. As he watched the astro bask in his afterglow, he felt a strange sense of tenderness, which he quickly shrugged off. "Who am I kidding?" He thought idly. "I barely know this guy."

“God, that was amazing.” Rimmer flushed as the words left his lips. “I'm sorry. I probably sound like a complete and total prat. It's just, I'm just a touch nervous still. I’m not used to this sort of thing.”

“It’s all right, man. Everyone gets nervous sometimes. And you don't sound like a prat, I promise.” He pressed a kiss to the man’s lips, and Rimmer moaned in response. “I really do just want to make you happy.”

“Could we…” Rimmer stuttered slightly as he tried to speak. “Could we do some more? Please?”

“What? Already?” Lister dropped his gaze and was amazed to see that Rimmer’s cock was beginning to swell with another erection. “Smeg, well that’s not something you see every day."

“What? Is that wrong?”

“Definitely nothing wrong with that, darling.” Lister raised his eyebrows in appreciation. “I’ve just never seen anyone with such a quick recovery time before. That’s a pretty impressive prick you’ve got there.” A smile spread on Rimmer’s face at the compliment, and Lister couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. The poor guy made it almost too easy.

“So could we?”

“Sure thing, love. I’m here to please you, so whatever you like, you can have. It's just a question of what you want, and what you're willing to pay."

"Right. Money. Of course," the astro reddened again. "You said one hundred to go all the way, right?"

Lister nodded, "Sorry about that love, but a guy's got to eat."

"No, no, I understand." Rimmer reached down to his bunched up trousers, and wrestled his wallet from the folds. He chewed anxiously on his lip as he passed Lister two more crisp fifty dollar-pound notes. "You're worth it," he breathed, and Lister felt another pang of guilt. The poor guy seemed so sincere. "Still," Lister thought. "It's not like I'm lying to him. I do have to eat."

"All right," Lister said after stuffing the cash in his deerstalker. "How would you like it, darling?"

"How do you mean?" Rimmer asked as he pulled off his shoes and disengaged his trousers from his ankles. Lister had to suppress a laugh as the astro folded his trousers with immaculately crisp lines before setting them down neatly beside him. The guy was half-hard, naked and paying for sex in the back of an illegal humper, but he still had the presence of mind to want to keep his trousers tidy.

“Do you have any special requests or things that you like?” Lister slid open a panel at the side of the hopper and revealed a wide array of various sex toys and novelties in an astonishing array of colors and shapes. “I’ve got handcuffs, nipple clamps, dildoes, butt-plugs, cock-rings, anal beads, ball-gags, vibrators, fleshlights, whips, ticklers, leashes, and a couple of these,” Lister pulled out a leather harness with an intimidating looking metal pouch, studded all over with pointed nubs. “Some sort of torture device for your bollocks. Takes all kinds you know? Anything tickle your fancy?” Lister turned and saw that Rimmer’s eyes had gone as wide as viewport holes.

“Erm… I think. I… Could we just do things the er… normal way?” His eyes flitted nervously over to the cock cage and he shuddered. “I don’t think I’m really in the mood for any of those things. Not right now.”

Lister smiled, not entirely surprised by the astro’s somewhat prudent reaction. “Well that makes things easy then.” Lister slid the cubby closed, and Rimmer exhaled loudly. “How’d you like _me_ then?”

“How’d I like you, what?” Rimmer looked at Lister quizzically.

"I mean, do you want to have me..." Lister made an O with his fingers and pushed his index finger in and out of the gap suggestively. "Or do _you_ want to..." Lister mimed a few pelvic thrusts.

"Oh!" It was near impossible for Rimmer to look any redder under the glow of the mood lighting, but he managed, all the same. "I think I'll go for the latter one. Please. If that's all right?"

"Of course it's all right, love. Like I've been saying, you can have whatever you want." Lister climbed into the astro's lap, and kissed him firmly. He wrapped his hands around Rimmer's head and twisted his fingers in the unruly curls. Rimmer moaned as he arched up into Lister, his cock stiffening completely as Lister pressed against him.

Lister raised himself on his knees and gazed silently at Rimmer as he undid the snaps and zipper of his own trousers. Rimmer licked his lips, anticipation glowing in his eyes as Lister pushed his trousers down his hips. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and eased them down.

"Oh my god." Rimmer's eyes widened as he got his first look at Lister's extreme endowment. Lister couldn't suppress a smug grin. Having what was probably the biggest cock in town, was an honor that never got old. Lister rolled out of Rimmer’s lap so he could slip his trousers off completely. The astro closed his fingers around Lister’s wrist and pulled him back. He looked Lister up and down slowly, like he wanted to remember every curve and nuance of his body. Lister slipped his thighs on either side of the astro and leaned in for a kiss, but Rimmer stopped him by grabbing his shoulders. He held the man away from him, and whispered, “By god, you’re beautiful.”

Lister felt yet another pang of guilt as he stared back at those hazel eyes, but he shook it off with a smile. “I’ll bet you say that to everyone. Don’t you, big man?” Before Rimmer could say anything else, Lister pressed forward, gliding his cock against the astro’s, and invading his mouth with a kiss. Rimmer whimpered and wrapped his arms around Lister, pulling him close. 

Suddenly Rimmer pushed Lister away with a gasp, “Would it be alright if… if I… touch you?” He nodded down at Lister’s cock. Lister remained silent, but grabbed Rimmer’s hand and wrapped it around him. The astro’s fingers were long and cool, and Lister bit his lip as Rimmer stared down at him with unblinking eyes. What his client lacked in expertise, he made up for with his unwavering attentions. He stroked Lister’s prick as if nothing else in the universe mattered.

Lister arched up into Rimmer's hand and moaned, "Oh smeg, Arn. That feels so smegging good." As Rimmer continued to fondle him, Lister snaked a hand into one of the compartments at the side of the humper, and pulled out a bottle of lube. He popped open the top and let a thin stream drizzle over Rimmer’s cock, like hot fudge over an ice cream sundae. Rimmer groaned and tightened his own grip as Lister fisted him, slicking up every inch.

“You ready?” Lister asked as he tossed the bottle aside. The astro nodded and Lister repositioned himself so he was straddling the astro’s swollen prick. Slowly he lowered himself down, his vision swimming as Rimmer slipped into him. Lister shifted his hips until the angle was just right.

“Oh smeg,” Rimmer moaned as his cock was surrounded and squeezed. “Oh Dave,” he groaned into the crook of Lister’s neck. 

“Oh, Arn. Oh smeg you feel incredible.” Lister grabbed onto the back of the rear seats, and began to slowly slide himself up and down. The astro stiffened and gasped as Lister began to bounce in his lap, pumping Rimmer’s cock in and out.

“Oh smeg,” Lister moaned as he let himself bask in the sensations, the hot massage of Rimmer's cock inside of him, and the deliberate fingers, stroking him with such intent. It had been ages since he'd had an encounter this nice. Usually he found himself being bent over and pounded into without a care for his own pleasure. That was occasionally enjoyable in its own way, but this was something more. This felt good, really incredibly good. He began to move faster, arching his back so Rimmer pressed into him just right, as Rimmer's fingers wrapped more tightly around him. Before too long heat began to radiate out from his groin in delicious waves.

"Oh smeg, Arn. Oh smegging hell. You're going to make me... I'm going to..."

"Dave. Oh god, Dave." Rimmer pulled Lister to him, crying out as Lister bit down on his shoulder. As soon as Lister felt Rimmer spasming and emptying into him, he lost control himself, spilling creamy rivulets down the sides of Rimmer's fist as his orgasm thundered through him.  

For several moments they simply held onto one another, their bodies heaving in unison as they returned to themselves. Lister raised his head to look at Rimmer. The astro's curls were teased so high, they nearly reached the hopper's ceiling, and his face was awash with blissful contentment. Lister couldn't hold back a smile, as he slid from the astro's lap and reached for his deerstalker hat.

"Cigarette, love?" Lister pulled a cigarette from the flaps of the hat, and placed it between his lips.

Rimmer stretched his long legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles as he placed his hands behind his head. He turned to Lister, a dreamy smile on his lips and asked, "Do you have any cigars?"


	3. Chapter 3

Through the thin haze of smoke one could just make out the silhouettes of two men as they lay on their backs, heads pressed together. Lister took a puff of his cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke pool around the crimson lights at the hopper's ceiling. Rimmer pulled a cigar from between his lips, and let his own trail of smoke mingle with Lister's. The astro let out a small snort, as he stared at the thick cylinder in his fingers, “You know, I don’t normally smoke. I think the last time I had one of these was when I got accepted into the Space Corps.”

Lister glanced over at him and laughed. “You should do it more often, it looks good on you. There’s something about a guy sucking on a thick brown cigar that just does it for me, for some reason.” He smirked as he took a drag and tucked the end of his cigarette into his ear. “What’s it like, by the way?”

Rimmer stared, wide-eyed at Lister. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Jam your cigarette in your ear?”

“Oh that. Yeah, I suppose I do.” The thin line of smoke crawling its way up from Lister's ear, made him look like a novelty incense burner.

“Why?”

“Dunno, just an easy way to free up your hands I guess.”

Rimmer looked as if the very physical laws of the universe were being called into question. “Haven’t you ever burned yourself?”

“Yeah, loads of times,” Lister laughed. “That’s why I’ve just got the locks at the back. I used to have a whole head of them. First the left side went up, then a few weeks later, the right side went.”

Rimmer pursed his lips for a moment, and then spoke. "Let me be sure I have this story straight. You burned the hair off both sides of your head by putting cigarettes in your ears, and yet, you still keep putting cigarettes in your ears?”

“Yeah," Lister grinned a careless grin. "Guess you could say I’m a glutton for punishment."

"You Dave, are an extraordinary person," Rimmer deadpanned.

Lister winked as he pulled the cigarette from his ear and stamped it out in the ash tray. “I sort of like how it wound up looking anyway." He pulled the ends of his locks in front of his face and admired them. "I think it suits me."

"It's certainly... unique, I'll give you that."

"Just you wait, this look'll be all the rage soon." Lister grinned as he flipped the locks back over his shoulder. "I'm a trend-setter, Arn. But c'mon, you never answered me question. What’s it like?”

“What?” Rimmer asked as he took another drag on his cigar. “You mean smoking cigars like a normal human being, and keeping them well away from my ears? I think it's been working out rather well actually. You should try it sometime.”

“I meant being an astro, smart arse." Lister smiled as he ruffled up Rimmer's curls. "Is it exciting?”

“It’s…” Rimmer flicked his cigar nervously in his fingers. “It’s all right I suppose. It’s not for everyone you know. Stuck on that big old ship for months at a time, cramped quarters, hard work…”

“You’re an officer though, yeah? Probably spent loads of time working your way up through the ranks, rubbing elbows with the all the higher-ups and big-wigs? You’ve probably got some pretty nice digs I’d think?”

Rimmer squirmed uncomfortably before answering. "I've done all right. Believe me though, it's not nearly as glamorous as it sounds." Rimmer's voice echoed slightly as he talked around his cigar.

Lister raised a curious eyebrow at the astro's reluctance to discuss his career before cheerfully changing the subject. "You're originally from Io, yeah?"

"How did you know?"

"You've got that lovely thick Ionian accent. I'll admit, I've always had a bit of a thing for an Ionian accent." Lister waggled his brows and Rimmer flushed. "Did you grow up there?"

"Mostly, yes. I was happy to see the back of it though."

"Not a fan of growing up in a bubble then, eh?"

"No, it wasn't that. Io could be lovely in its own way. I just... didn't have what one could call the... happiest of childhoods." Rimmer's eyes narrowed as he reached across Lister to stamp out his cigar. “But enough about me.” He wrapped an arm around Lister, and pulled him so they were on their sides, face-to-face. “I want to know more about you. Now that I know you make it a point to deliberately set your hair on fire on a regular basis, I'm intrigued to know the rest.”

“Apart from the self-immolation, I'm afraid there's not much to tell. Besides, what does someone like you, want to know about someone like me?” Lister threaded his fingers through Rimmer’s curls, his expression flirty.

“I’m serious, Dave. I want to know about you. You’re from Earth, right?”

“Yeah. Earth.” Lister sighed. Thinking of home never failed to elicit a pinched, empty feeling in his chest.

"You grew up there?"

"I did, I did." Lister nodded, a far-away look in his eyes as he began to reminisce. "Spent me whole life there."

"What was it like?"

"Oh, you know the usual." Lister shrugged his shoulders, as he put on a phony posh accent. "Tennis, and horseback riding lessons on the weekend. Sunday dinners with mater and pater. Holidays on the continent."

"Really?"

"Nah, of course not." Lister said with a laugh. "With me, it was weekend lessons in swiping cars, Sunday dinners at Greasy Pete's, and holidays in Blackpool. But it wasn't bad really. Tough sometimes, but not bad. My parents both died when I was young, but my gran raised me up. She was a great old lady." Lister laughed as the memories began to flood back in. "She was a bit mad, but I miss her a lot. The things she'd say to me, if she could see where I am now. She'd come back from the grave, just so she could smack some sense into me before dropping dead again."

"How did you end up on Mimas, anyway?" Rimmer asked, his eyebrows knitted together.

“To make a long story short, I went on a pub-crawl round London with some of me mates. I got a bit drunk, and the next thing I know, I’m on this rubbish-heap of a moon with no money, no friends, and a passport for someone named Emily Berkenstein. That was six months ago. I’ve just been trying to earn enough money to get home ever since.

Rimmer’s expression began to sag, “So you've been stranded here? All on your own?”

“Eh, could be worse.” Lister used his index finger to try to smooth out the worry lines that had sprung up on Rimmer’s forehead. “At least I’ve got a steady source of income now, and a place to stay,” he gestured around the humper. “This certainly beats sleeping in a luggage locker.”

“You were sleeping in a luggage locker?”

“Well, I don’t know if you could call it sleeping, maybe catching the odd wink here and there.”

"How did you even manage to fit yourself in one of those things?"

"I can be quite flexible when I need to be," Lister quipped, his eyes twinkling.

“Did you…” Rimmer’s eyes flitted anxiously around the edges of Lister’s face. “Did you do _this_ sort of thing, back when you were on Earth?"

“Nah, well not for pay anyway." Lister tried to sound casual as he bit back a sour taste. Even for him, it was sometimes hard to pretend that he didn't feel any shame or regret for his current occupation. "There’s only so much you can do to make money on Mimas though, when you’ve got no cash, no passport, no connections, no anything. Desperate times, you know?”

Rimmer let the fingers of his hand drag down the side of Lister’s face as he gazed at him sorrowfully. “I'm sorry things have worked out like this for you. It doesn't seem fair that you've had to turn to this, just to keep yourself alive.”

“It’s really not all that bad, man.” Lister squirmed a bit under Rimmer’s gaze. “I wasn’t looking for sympathy or anything, just explaining how I wound up here. Don't worry about me, cause I've got a plan for getting out. I've been saving all me earnings. A few more months of this and I’ll be able to afford the flight back to earth, and this will all just be a memory. Hey are you hungry at all?” Lister asked cheerfully, desperate to change the subject to something less depressing. “I’ve got some sugar puff sandwiches.” Lister opened the compartment of sex toys and pulled a rather sad looking cellophane-wrapped packet from between a line of super-sized rubbery dildoes.

A look flashed across Rimmer’s face; one that was two parts nausea, one part disbelief, and three parts pity. “No thanks, I’m fine for right now.”

Lister shrugged and started unwrapping a sandwich, “Suit yourself, man. You’re missing out though.” Before he could take a bite, Rimmer pulled the sandwich away from him, and tenderly held the Scouser’s face in his hands.

“Look, you might think I’m crazy, and feel free to turn me down, but… would you let me take you out for dinner?”

Lister’s brow furrowed as alarm bells began to ring in his head. What was this guy’s angle? “ _You_ , want to take _me_ out for dinner?”

“Yes. Yes, I would like that very much.”

“You’re takin’ the smeg.”

“I am _not_ taking the smeg,” Rimmer tossed Lister’s sandwich aside and grabbed hold of his hands. “Look, I know this may sound crazy, but I like you. I really, _really_ like you.”

“You don’t even _know_ me, man.”

“I know that you’re hungry, and that you’ve got no place to stay except for this old hopper.” Rimmer paused as he chewed over his words for a while. “I know that you're a long way from home. And you're lonely. I know what it's like to be lonely, and to not have anyone. I know that… you’re nice, and… I've really been enjoying myself with you.” Rimmer grumbled as he screwed up his face. “I’m sorry, I’m really rubbish at these sort of things. It’s just that I know I’d be kicking myself later if I didn’t say anything now.”

Lister looked down at the satin upholstery, embarrassed by the way this conversation was going. He didn’t know what to think, and wasn’t sure what to do. He’d had similar offers before from seemingly lovelorn astros, but it had always just been pillow-talk, nothing had ever come from it. There was something different about this one though. Something about how he was having such a hard time keeping his eyes off of Lister’s. Something about how tightly he was squeezing Lister’s fingers.

“Look just give me a chance. Please?" Rimmer implored as he pulled Lister’s hands up under his chin and kissed them gently. “I know that for all you know, I could be some kind of creep, but I promise I’m not. We don’t have to do anything big, I swear. Just dinner, and then we can take it from there. What do you say?”

Lister chewed on his lower lip, and stared down at their clasped hands as he thought. The easy-going side of his brain was telling him that if this guy had wanted to hurt him, he’d probably have done it by now. And it had been a long time since he’d had a proper, sit-down meal anywhere. What harm could it do? Even if the guy did turn out to be some sort of a weird pervert, at least they’d be in a public place, and he’d be able to scarper if things went pear-shaped. The less easy-going side of his brain was wary, and worried. He remembered the bastard who had seemed decent until he’d held a knife to Lister’s neck, and spit on him after he’d had his way with him. Or the woman who’d seemed kind until she’d kneed him in the bollocks and called him a whore after fucking him up against the car boot. By nature, being a prostitute left you dangerously vulnerable, and Lister had learned to be cautious.

Lister raised his eyes, and fixed them on Rimmer. He searched the pools of hazel, looking for some glimmer or glimpse of dishonesty, or some sort of hidden agenda. He remembered Rimmer’s phony demeanor when he’d first gotten into Lister’s cab. Rimmer had been lying then, and it was painfully obvious at the time, even without taking the false mustache into account. Right now, there was none of that awkward bluster, none of the affected sense of superiority. Lister sighed, and his head decided to nod, and make the decision for him.

“Alright. But just dinner.”

Rimmer’s eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled, “I promise, I’ll be on my best behavior. And I swear, I’ve got no tricks up my sleeve. I really just want to spend some more time with you. Time… wait… what time is it?”

“Erm,” Lister lifted his head and squinted at the clock on the dash. “About half four.”

“Half four? Smeg!” Rimmer shot to a sitting position and began to pull on his shorts.

“What? You got a hot date you’re late for?”

“No, no,” Rimmer muttered as he slipped his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. “I have an appointment with a barrister, it’s the whole reason I even took planet leave today.”

“Barrister, eh? You in trouble with the law? Let me guess, jewel thief? Professional embezzler? No wait, I know, tax evasion!” Lister giggled as he started to drag on his own wrinkled clothes.

“No, it’s sort of a long story,” Rimmer tried with little success to smooth down his curls as he finished buttoning his shirt. “I divorced my parents when I was fourteen. They’re not supposed to have any sort of contact with me, but they somehow found out where I'm stationed, and they've been sending me letters. I’m trying to get them stopped. The less reminders I have of them, the better.”

“Divorced your parents, eh? They must have been quite the pair then?"

"That's one way of putting it," Rimmer scoffed as he fixed his tie. "Look I'm sorry to ask you this, but would you be able to bring me downtown? I completely forgot about this, but it shouldn't take more than twenty, twenty-five minutes at the most. We can do dinner right after, I promise."

"No problem, darling. I'm still charging you full price though. No special discounts for good-looking officers who offer to buy me dinner." Lister winked as he hurriedly zipped up his trousers and hit the button under the dash. He slid into the driver's seat as the hopper began to shift back to its inoffensive interior. Rimmer buckled up his seat belt and braced himself as Lister shifted into first gear. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to janamelie for being an awesome beta. :-)

“Right there! It’s that one,” Rimmer gestured as best he could while clinging to the ceiling of the hopper with his other hand. Lister pulled the taxi to the side of the street, next to a run-down building with a sign that read, “Honesto Armando: Divorces, Child Support, Lawsuits, Taxes & Churros.”

“Hold on,” Lister warned as he jumped the hopper up and over the smallest stack of parked cars that he could find. There was an enormous crash as the undercarriage of the taxi dropped like a stone onto the roof of the one below it. Lister’s angry mutterings were muffled by the t-shirt bunched up around his mouth, as he struggled to finish dressing while simultaneously man-handling the steering wheel. Rimmer had dug his fingers and the soles of his boots into every nook and crevice he could find on the inside of the hopper in his efforts to keep himself from getting concussed. He opened his eyes and gasped, “Is it over?”

Lister shifted the hopper into park and it settled weightily into the hopper below it with a ear-splitting squeal. “Not a scratch on her,” Lister crowed, as he finished rearranging his shirt, and pulled on his hat. “You ok?” He turned to look at Rimmer, who sat still and chalky in the back seat.

“Fine. I’ll be fine.” Rimmer swallowed noisily as he unbuckled his belt. “I’m just a bit prone to motion sickness is all.”

“Well hold on, and let me help you down.” Lister opened the driver’s side door and hopped easily to the ground two hoppers below, amid a throng of lazy tourists. The stacked taxis shouted angry metallic curses at him as he hauled himself up, and pulled open Rimmer’s door. As the astro lurched from his seat, Lister hopped back to the ground, took his hand, and began to guide him down. Rimmer’s foot slipped on some chrome, and Lister caught him about the waist and lowered him to the pavement. He swept off his deerstalker and gave a greatly exaggerated bow. “Your destination, my darling.”

Rimmer glanced nervously at the crowd around them before straightening his tie. “Er… thank you. How much do I owe you?”

“Eighteen-fifty, love. Tell you what though, how about I make it an even eighteen? Just for you?” He chucked the astro under the chin, and the color began to return to Rimmer’s skin as he fumbled for his wallet.

“You’ll wait here for me?” Rimmer mumbled as he handed Lister a neat fifty dollarpound note.

“Of course, I’ll be right here,” Lister smiled up at Rimmer as he took off his hat, and began to dig in the flaps for change.

“Don’t worry about that,” Rimmer murmured as he put his hands over Lister’s.

“You sure?”

“I’m positive,” Rimmer looked warily around him before leaning down to give Lister a chaste peck on the cheek.

“Hey,” Lister put his hat back on his head, and snaked an arm around the back of Rimmer’s neck, pulling him close for a proper kiss. The astro initially stiffened, but quickly relaxed, kissing Lister back heavily. After several seconds, he pulled away with a gasp, his forehead resting against Lister's, “You promise you’ll wait for me?”

“Cross my heart,” Lister smiled as he raised a hand. “Scout’s honor. Now off you go, I’ll be right here.” Lister leaned back against the stack of taxis and stuck his hands into his pockets.

“Ok,” Rimmer turned and wound his way through the throng before he disappeared through the door of Honesto Armando’s.

Lister shook his head in disbelief as he stared, unseeing at the thick undulating worm of tourists that squeezed its way past him. He wondered what the smeg he was doing, agreeing to go on a date with a customer. It went against every rule in the book. Well, every rule in the imaginary stack of mismatched papers in his head that he would occasionally reference as a rule book. But something in Lister’s gut was telling him that this guy was ok. He shifted anxiously from foot to foot as he reached up to his hat for a cigarette, and pulled his lighter from his pocket. He leaned into the stack of taxis as he lit up, and the metal moaned into his back. He exhaled, watching the haze of smoke thin and disappear as it dispersed into the artificial Mimian atmosphere. “Smeg man, I’ve got to learn to relax. It’s just dinner,” he thought idly. “It’s just a guy wanting to take me out for dinner, what could possibly go wrong?”

Suddenly, a voice, vivid with anger, cut through the din of the crowd like a police siren. “That’s my hopper goddamnit!” Before Lister even realized what he was doing, instinct kicked in and he began scrambling up the side of the pile of taxis. He had his fingers around the handle of his hopper’s door, when a pair of meaty hands grabbed him like a giant pincer and yanked him back.

Lister fell to the pavement, his teeth clamped down on his cigarette, biting the filter off cleanly as the air was jarred from his lungs. Two pairs of legs suddenly surrounded him as he spat out the filter, and gasped for breath. Or maybe it was one pair of legs, and a pair of tree trunks wearing trousers and combat boots. Lister wasn’t certain why a pair of tree trunks would be wearing trousers and combat boots, but his brain seemed unable to process them as anything else. The other legs were far more easily identifiable as legs. A pair of white platform boots settled over leopard-print, skin-tight trousers. The tree trunks were attached to a particularly heavy-set man with an oddly pleasant face, and a head of slicked-back black hair. The leopard print trousers and platform boots were attached to a short, slender man with brown skin, and a head of long brown curls. He leaned down into Lister’s face, his expression murderous. “So you’re the bastard that stole my hopper!” His voice was thin, and oddly melodic.

“Hopper? What hopper?” Platform boots leaned down and smacked Lister roughly on the back of the head.

“Don’t try and play coy with me you stupid son of a bitch. Nobody fucks with me unless they pay me to, you got that, you dumb prick?”

“Look, look, this is all just a big misunderstanding, I swear.”

“Do yourself a favor and shut your trap before I have Frisco here shut it for you,” platform boots gestured his head towards tree trunks. “Keep a hold of him, don’t let the little bastard get away.”

A massive hand reached down and pulled Lister up by the back of his shirt as if he weighed nothing. Lister dangled, the fabric of his shirt cutting into his neck as his toes grazed the pavement.

“What do you want me to do with him, boss?” The man’s voice was deep and he spoke with a heavy Mimian accent.

“Just hold him while I check the hopper out.” He poked a neatly manicured finger into Lister’s nose as he hissed, “And none of my shit better be missing or there will be hell to pay for you my friend.” He turned sharply with a flip of his gelled curls and hopped nimbly up the stack of taxis.

Lister used his hands to pull himself up on the man’s forearm like it was a well-muscled chin-up bar. He gasped as the pressure on his windpipe lessened, “Look I didn’t take nothing, I swear.”

Platform boots pulled open the door and recoiled as if he’d been slapped in the face. “Ugh. It reeks of sex and cigarettes in here. It’s going to take me ages to get that smell out.” He turned and pointed an accusing finger at Lister as he leaned away from the hopper. “If that smoke makes my asthma act up, so fucking help me… And you!” He pointed aggressively at Frisco. “Take him back in the alley and beat the shit out of him.” Lister yelped as he lost his grip on the big man’s arm and his collar caught him in the throat. Platform boots retreated to the interior of the hopper and began to rummage around.

“Do I have to?” The big man yelled to Platform boots. “He’s awfully small, Chico. It wouldn’t be a very fair fight.” The man’s voice was thick with concern. Lister did his best to nod his agreement as he dangled like a kitten from the man’s gargantuan fist.

Chico leaned out from the hopper door as he gazed incredulously at his partner-in-crime. “Look it’s very noble of you to want to look out for this little trollop’s well-being, but I don’t pay you to have a conscience, ok?” He began gesturing dramatically with one of the giant dildoes from the hopper’s hidden compartment. Lister’s eyes widened as the small man angrily stabbed the rubbery phallus into the air as he talked. “I want this little bitch to remember that he fucked with the wrong person. Now get him out of here.”

“All right,” the big man sighed.

“Wait, please!” Lister’s voice was strained as his collar dug into his vocal chords. “Can’t we talk this over?

“I’m really sorry about this. It’s nothing personal, just business.” Frisco shrugged as he put another big, meaty hand around Lister’s waist, hoisted him up, and squeezed the both of them through the crowds and into a darkened alley.

Starbursts of color exploded behind Lister’s eyelids as he was thrown against a brick wall between a row of rubbish bins. His hands dangled limply at his sides as Frisco grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him to his feet. “I’m sorry I have to do this, but it’s what Chico pays me for. I tell you what though? I’ll go easy on you ok? You seem like you’re probably a nice person.”

Lister blinked as he tried to focus on the man’s face. “Thanks man,” he gasped. “I appreciate…” was all he could manage to say before a boulder-sized fist hit him full in the face and darkness crashed into him like a blackboard.

* * *

 “Me face? What’s on me face?” Lister’s thoughts were foggy as he shifted his head from side to side. He groaned as he realized that contrary to what he was feeling, a rhinoceros had not decided to use his face as an easy chair. Then he remembered a fist flying into his face with all the force of a jumbo jet. “Smeg,” he muttered as he noticed a horrid coppery taste in his mouth. He rolled his tongue around and winced as it scraped past a split front lip, and a jagged point of tooth. He rolled to his side with a moan and spit out a mouthful of blood. “Oh smegging hell,” he muttered as a bit of enamel splatted wetly against the pavement. He moaned as the fog from his brain began to clear, and he realized that every part of his body seemed to hurt. “What the smeg happened?” Suddenly he remembered. The tree trunks, and the angry man in the platform boots, and the hopper. “ _Oh smeg_!” He felt the top of his head, his deerstalker was gone. He whipped his head from side-to-side and spotted it a few feet away, crumpled up like an old newspaper. He dragged himself over to it and desperately started searching the flaps. There wasn’t a single coin left, and all the notes he’d gotten from the astro were gone.

“Oh smeg.” Lister thought, as he remembered the astro, and their dinner date. “Arn.” With great difficulty, Lister gingerly placed the smashed deerstalker onto his head, and hoisted himself up into a sitting position. A fresh flash of pain thundered its way through his head. He held his temples in his hands as he waited for the roaring in his ears to subside. He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, and lumbered his way out of the alley.

Drunks, bums, Bliss freaks and game heads were all too common on Mimas, so Lister drew little attention as he staggered, bloody and battered into the crowd that undulated down the sidewalk. He squinted up at the sky. Saturn still hung there like a giant orange-striped Christmas bauble. Not much time had passed since he first parked the humper. His eyes scanned the stacks of parked hoppers and his heart dropped to the pavement. It was gone. Along with the couple thousand dollarpounds he’d secreted away in the bottom of a box of edible jelly cock rings. So much for getting back to Earth in a few months time. In the midst of his despair, his brain zeroed in on the one thing that had gone well for him that day; Arn. Maybe if he could find the astro, maybe… Lister didn’t even know what he expected to happen, he just needed something to focus on, something to keep him distracted from the doom and gloom that was threatening to overtake him. He turned on his heel and pushed his way through the crowd to the door of Honesto Armando’s.

Behind a desk, a middle-aged woman with her dark hair pinned messily at the side with a fake rose, chirped at him cheerily in a faux Spanish accent. “Hola Sir! And bienvenido to Honesto Armando’s! How can I be of service? Are you here for an appointment?”

“Sorry, no I don’t have an appointment. I’m just looking for someone.” Lister winced as he walked over to the desk.

“Oh sugar, you don’t look so good. What’s happened to you?” Like a lightswitch had been flipped, the faux Spanish accent changed to a motherly drawl that reminded Lister of American westerns he’d watched when he was growing up. She stood up and smoothed out a bright yellow pencil skirt while she leaned in to inspect his face.

“Erm, it’s a bit of a long story.”

“Well here, at least you can clean yourself up a bit, you don’t wanna bleed all over the carpet, hon.” She held out a box of tissues, Lister pulled one out with a nod and began to dab gently at his lip.

“Thanks,” he murmured as he tried not to wince at the feel of the tissue against his mangled lip. “I’m looking for a guy, yeah? An astro, tall fella, brown curly hair, blue officer’s uniform?”

“Oh that guy, yeah he left maybe five minutes ago?”

“Five minutes? Smeg.” Lister turned and lurched his way to the door.

“Wait, do you need any help? You know, if you need to sue whoever did that to your face, we’d be more than happy to…”

“No, thanks. Sorry but I’ve got to go.”

Lister shoved his way out the door, and scanned the sidewalk in both directions. There were so many people. Throngs and throngs of partiers, astros, and drunks, blindly enjoying themselves as they parted to walk around Lister. He cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled out, “Arn!” It was like screaming into the ocean, his voice barely registering over the din of the hundreds of chatting bodies snaking past him. “ _Arn_!” He yelled again, not expecting any answer, but he just didn’t know what else to do. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his head, he jogged down the pavement, weaving between tourists like a shuttle on a loom. He cried out the astro’s name over and over again as he stared into the crowd, hoping a blue uniform with a head of tousled brown curls was hiding in there, somewhere just out of sight. But no matter how much Lister called, no head of brown curls turned in recognition. Thousands upon thousands of tourists visited Mimas every day; the chances of him ever finding the astro again were astronomically minute.

Lister turned with a sigh, and planted his fists against the window of a decrepit building emblazoned with a neon sign that read Tony’s Taco Shack. He got the first good look at his battered face reflected back at him, and grimaced. He prodded gently at his swollen nose, and lifted up his still-bleeding lip. His front tooth glared back at him, with a diagonal gap like a cartoon frown. Lister let his hands fall dejectedly to his sides as he pressed his head against the glass with a groan. “Life, sucks.”

Letting the weight of his limbs pirouette him slowly to the ground like a clumsy ballet dancer, Lister sat. He propped his elbows on his knees, his head hanging limply like a doll’s. Without the hopper to return to, he wasn’t sure what his next move ought to be. He squinted up at the sky and realized that it was going to be dark before too long. He sighed, as he pulled himself to his feet, and started to head in the direction of Mimas’s Central Shuttle Station. With any luck, he’d find an empty luggage locker that he could cram himself into for the night, and then maybe in the morning his situation wouldn’t look so bleak. He might even be able to find a stale noodle kebab at the Kwik-Food bar, which would be a welcome change from the sugar puff sandwiches. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all?

His heart feeling lightened, Lister turned the corner with more vigor in his steps, and ran smack into a Space Corps recruiter in a heavily starched uniform.

“Hey sonny! Join the Corps and see _space_! We’re always looking for new blood out there!” The man had a closely cropped haircut, to mask the fact that he was balding at the back, and an alarmingly wide smile of thick white teeth. He shoved a flyer towards Lister enthusiastically, and launched into his recruitment speech in an intimidatingly cheerful voice. “Why just be here, when you could be out there seeing the stars? Everyone needs a change of scenery!” He flinched as he noticed Lister’s swollen face. “Wow kid! Looks like you could use a new face too! Seriously though, the Space Corps offers a wide range of opportunities for everyone, from all walks of life! Why not sign up today? We offer...”

“Where do I sign up?”

The man looked at Lister like an actor in a play who was missing his lines. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Where. Do. I. Sign. Up?” Lister spoke slowly as he tapped the flyer for emphasis.

“Er… just over there, at the recruitment office.” Lister pushed his way past the man and made a bee-line for the glass-windowed door. “But wait!” The man hollered after Lister. “Don’t you want to hear about our sizable benefits package?”

Lister turned, desperately trying to smother a grin that he knew would wreak havoc with his split lip. “Thanks, but I’ve already got one of those.”


	5. Chapter 5

Lister fidgeted uncomfortably in the stiff plastic chair as the recruitment officer stared across his desk at him. Lister tilted his chin down, hoping a different angle might help to mask his swollen nose and lip. When Lister had staggered through the door, bleeding and bruised, the front-desk assistant had given him a quick going-over with the first-aid kit. Some liberal applications of a tin of Kwik-Heal had minimized the worst of the damage, but he still looked like he’d gone a few rounds in the ring with a much better boxer.

“Do you realize that you have a mustache on the front of your hat?”

“A wha’?”

“You have a mustache, stuck to the front of your hat.”

“Oh that. Yeah that’s er…” Lister took off his smashed deerstalker and did his best to smooth out the crumpled edges before jamming it back on his head. “That’s for religious reasons.”

“Religious reasons?”

“Is that a problem?”

The officer held up his hands in surrender. “Forget I even asked.” He pulled a paper form from a stack on his desk and readied a pen. “Name?”

“Lister. David Lister.” The recruitment officer’s pen scratched against the paper form as Lister’s eyes wandered about the Space Corps recruitment office. The walls, carpeting and all of the furniture were different shades of beige. The officer in his tan Space Corps uniform sat perched in his chair like a chameleon blending into its surroundings.

“Is that, L-I-S-T-E-R?” Lister glanced at the badge on the officer’s chest as he nodded. The name Zadnik was spelled out in red letters on a black field.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Date of birth?” Officer Zadnik had a head of thinning sandy hair, a wrinkled forehead, and the sort of mouth that seemed permanently paralyzed into a smirk. He also had the annoying habit of sucking on his front teeth as if he were trying to dislodge a crumb of biscuit. Something about the action distracted Lister, and he found himself self-consciously running his tongue across his own front teeth, prodding at the unfamiliar chipped spot. He noticed the officer was staring at him as he waited for an answer.

“October 15th 2155, or so.”

“Or so?” The officer snorted with derision as he looked up from the form at Lister. Lister didn’t think that he much liked Officer Zadnik.

“I don’t know exactly when I was born. I was abandoned, left in a pub when I was just a baby. They guessed I was born sometime in October, so they just picked a date somewhere round the middle.” As the officer resumed his pen-scratching, Lister reached up and gingerly touched the center of his lip where he could already feel new pink flesh beginning to knit together.

“So what happened to you?” Zadnik glanced up from the form, as he gestured to Lister’s face.

Lister quickly dropped his hand. “Nothing. I slipped and fell, got a bit of a knock. That’s all.”

“Mmm… I’ll bet.” Lister glared back at the officer as he dropped his eyes and looked over the next line of the form. Now he was certain that he didn’t like the officer.

“So, Mister Lister. What makes you want to join the Space Corps?”

Lister’s eyes flitted to the recruitment posters which were the scant adornments on the otherwise clinically beige walls. “ _See space!_ ” they shouted in capital letters and garish fonts. “ _Live a life of adventure!_ ”

“I want to see space. Maybe have some adventures.” Lister tried his best to sound enthusiastic.

Zadnik furrowed his brows as he tapped the form with his pen. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you look like you just found yourself on the wrong end of a sucker punch?”

“Look, man. I just want to get off this goddamned smegging hell-hole of a moon alright? This seemed as good a way as any.”

“Well what qualifications do you have? What sort of work have you been doing on Mimas?” Officer Zadnik smirked as he asked the question. Lister began to get a sick feeling in his stomach as he shifted his eyes away from the officer.

“I drove hoppers.”

“Did you really?”

“Look I’m answering your questions, man. I dunno what else you want from me.” Lister’s hands instinctively clenched themselves into fists.

Zadnik dropped his pen, and rested his elbows on the desk as he leaned in towards Lister. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Smeg,” Lister muttered under his breath, as Zadnik leaned in closer.

“Although I suppose you didn’t spend much time looking at my face that night, did you?”

Zadnik stood and walked over to the glass windows that looked out onto the Mimian traffic, and began to close the blinds. “I was catching a taxi home about a month ago, and you picked me up. Best damned cab ride I’ve ever had.”

Lister raised his hand to his forehead and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers as his mind raced. Now he knew why he’d been so distracted by the officer’s obnoxious tooth-sucking habit. He remembered Zadnik’s face lit by the Mimian street lights as he peered down at him, sucking on his teeth in ecstasy. Zadnik walked back and sat at the edge of his desk. Lister shifted in his seat, making as much room between himself and the officer as he could. He sighed as Zadnik looked him over like he was a choice cut of beef.

“Alright.” Lister sighed dejectedly. “So what’s it going to be then?”

Zadnik sucked hard on his teeth and Lister cringed. “Well, you want to get in the Corps, right?”

“Yeah,” Lister drawled, his voice heavy with irritation. “That’s right.”

“Well I’m afraid that the waiting list to get on any of the ships is exceptionally long. It could be weeks until a ship is ready to take you. Maybe months.”

“I haven’t got months, _or_  weeks. I need to get on a ship _now_.” Lister ground his teeth together as he braced himself for the inevitable.

“Well, I might be able to speed up the process somewhat, if you’d be willing to give me something in return.”

“Just spit it out, man. What do you want?”

Zadnik reached out a hand and stroked it down Lister’s cheek, letting his thumb graze across his mouth. “I want to feel those gorgeous lips wrapped around my dick again. That’s what I want.”

Lister jerked his head away from the officer’s fingers as he gripped onto the arms of the chair. “I want it in writing first.”

“Smart kid,” Zadnik smiled as he turned and rummaged through the paperwork on his desk. He picked up a small stapled stack and passed it over to Lister. Lister flipped through the first few pages. It was a contract for a technician’s position on-board a mining ship called Red Dwarf.

“Technician? What’s a technician do?”

“It’s essentially the Space Corps version of a janitor, only with a better sounding title. It’s well within your… skill-set. You would start off as the lowest rank, which is third technician.”

“And I could start right away?”

“The shuttle leaves first thing in the morning. All I have to do is fill in your name, right here.” Zadnik stabbed his finger at the top of the contract, “And the position is yours.”

“And the ship is going back to Earth?”

“Yes. It might have to make a few stops at some of the other planets, but Earth is the ship’s final destination.”

Lister handed the papers to Zadnik, “Write my name down, and I’ll suck whatever you want.”

“Tell you what,” Zadnik said as he picked up a pen and clicked the ball-point. “I’ll write in your first name now, and once we’re all finished here, I’ll put in your last name. Do we have a deal?”

A million thoughts were sweeping through Lister’s head like autumn leaves kicked up by a wind, but there was one that was far larger and more urgent than the rest. He had to get off of this moon. He had to get off now, whatever the cost. He just couldn’t do this anymore. “Fine.”

Zadnik quickly wrote in Lister’s first name in neat block letters, threw down the pen and began to unzip his trousers. “I knew we could work something out. Would you take off that stupid hat though?”

Lister reached up and pulled the deerstalker from his head and set it down on his knee. He thought fleetingly of Arn as the enormous false mustache hovered in his peripheral vision. He felt silly to have thought anything could have worked out between them. He was wrested from his thoughts as the officer pulled himself, semi-erect from the front of his pants. Lister sighed as he shifted the plastic chair forward. The officer grabbed the back of Lister’s head firmly, and pressed his mouth down on him. Lister squinched his eyes shut as he allowed his mouth to be fucked. “It’ll all be over soon,” he thought. “It’ll all be over soon and you’ll get to go home. You’ll finally get to go home.”

Officer Zadnik’s lack of propriety was equally matched by his lack of stamina and it was all over with blessedly quick. He groaned as he fell back and slid from between Lister’s lips. “God you’re amazing. Those lips, and that tongue.” Lister flinched away as the officer reached to caress his face again.

“The contract please,” Lister grumbled as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and put his hat back on.

“I’m a man of my word,” Zadnik chuckled as he zipped up and finished writing Lister’s name. Lister went to grab the papers from him as soon as he wrote the last letter, but Zadnik held them firm and pulled Lister in close to him. The officer wrapped his other hand around the back of Lister’s head and kissed him forcefully. Lister held back the urge to spit in Zadnik’s face, as he pulled away and grabbed Lister’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. “Welcome to the Space Corps, third technician Lister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait on this one. It wasn't a particularly fun chapter to write, so I sat on it for quite a while. Hopefully the next chapters won't be quite so stubborn.


	6. Chapter 6

Lister jerked awake as the intercom crackled loudly in his ear. A robotic voice intoned, “Shuttle arriving in approximately five minutes. Please prepare for your departure.” The announcement continued in Esperanto as Lister grimaced and peeled his face from the aircraft’s window. A long stripe of drool had crawled its way down the glass like a slug. He wiped at his chin as he twisted his head from side-to-side, trying to remedy the terrible crick he had in his neck. He sat back in the cushioned shuttle seat with a sigh that quickly changed to a gasp as he looked through the window beyond his line of drool to the ship floating out in space.

Massive was the first word that popped into Lister’s mind, but it fell far short in accurately describing the sheer, overwhelming bigness of the ship. Even though they were still miles away, it filled up so much space that it gave the illusion of being close enough to touch. Not only was the ship enormous, it was also entirely painted red, with only the glinting lights of thousands of windows to distract from the crimson coating. Lister snorted as he gawped out the window at the scarlet behemoth, “It’s like a giant floating hemorrhoid.” A slash of white paint like a smear of ointment covered one of the blocky angular side panels near the front of the ship. RED DWARF was written across the smear in matching red letters.

“Such irony,” Lister mumbled as he took off his deerstalker hat and pulled his crumpled and folded employment contract out from where he’d crammed it for safekeeping. This was his ticket back to Earth, and he wasn’t taking any chance of losing it. He glanced over at the other passengers on the cramped shuttle as they gathered up their luggage and personal items. He gripped the contract tighter in his fist as he ignored the occasional scornful glance that was aimed at him. He hunched over in his seat to better shield his bruised face and bloody t-shirt. “It doesn’t matter,” he thought to himself. “Getting home, that’s all that matters.”

As the shuttle flew closer to the ship, every window was blotted out by endless redness. It skimmed across the top expanse of the ship like a minuscule pebble over the surface of an ocean. Structure after structure whizzed by as the shuttle headed for the docking station, tucked along the center channel of the ship like a mechanical buttock-crease. Lister squeezed his eyes shut against a sudden rush of vertigo as the shuttle swooped down into the channel and slowly touched down. Lister tucked his hat down on his head and wormed his way into the crush of passengers fighting to be the first to disembark.

Hundreds of people crawled their way across the floor of the docking bay like bees buzzing around the inside of a hive. Lister gawped up at the ceiling that stretched above him like an airplane hanger as he was jostled and shoved from all sides. His eyes scanned across the various shuttle vehicles until he spotted a large sign which read, “Intake Clearance Zone/Konsumado Clearance Zono”. He held his elbows in front of him like a battering ram and pushed his way towards the alcove and onto a moving walkway. The belt below Lister creaked ominously, and he found himself wondering exactly how old this ship was, before deciding it was probably best to not think of such things.

At the end of the belt, a throng of people waited, holding up signs with names scribbled in black marker: Andrews, Lee, Davis, Vasquez, DiStephano. Presumably, Lister’s rather abrupt assignment meant his arrival was not officially expected today. He unfolded his contract and gave it a bit of a shake before attempting to smooth out the wrinkles against his thigh.

“Come along please, find your name and go with your escort,” droned a JMC employee near the edge of the group of sign-holders.

“Sorry, I don’t think I’ve got an escort, but I’ve got me papers.” Lister held out the stack to the fellow who had a badge on his chest which read Henderson. “Er… sir.” Lister added lamely.

Henderson furrowed a brow as he looked at Lister. Lister groaned as he was reminded what a sight he must look. His lip had mostly healed, but his t-shirt was still covered with an unpleasant funk of dried blood, bits of leftover curries he’d managed to scrounge from the Spaceport cafeteria, and whatever unidentifiable gunk he’d picked up while lying unconscious in the alley on Mimas. Henderson took Lister’s contract with some apprehension and looked it over for a few minutes. Lister squirmed from foot-to-foot. “Smeg,” he thought. “What if that bastard Zadnik screwed me over and gave me a bogus contract? What’ll I do then?”

“This seems in order,” Lister hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath until he released a heavy sigh. “Come on,” Henderson continued. “We’ll get you entered into the system.”

Lister fought back a heavy sense of deja vu as he looked around him at Henderson’s office. Again with the beige walls, beige floor, and the recruitment posters littered with sparkling teeth and perfect hairdos. Even the plastic chair that was quickly giving him a nasty case of pins and needles in his backside, was identical to the recruitment office he’d been in just a day earlier. He stared with amazement as Henderson typed his information into a touch-type computer keyboard. He had heard rumours that the JMC was notoriously stingy with their budgets, but a touch-type keyboard? He’d only seen those things in antique shops.

“Right, that’s you about finished.” Henderson muttered as he tapped a few more lines into the computer before turning and tapping a button on a desktop intercom. “Pelkey? Could you send someone down from personnel? We’ve got a new recruit who’s just been added to the system.” A garbled, “Yes sir,” crackled out of the ancient unit and Henderson turned to Lister. “Right, we’ve just got to get you down to medical for some tests and inoculations…”

“Inoculations?” Lister shuddered at the thought of being poked and prodded by doctors.

“It’s all standard protocol, Mister… Lister.” Henderson glanced down at Lister’s paperwork to read off his name. “After that, assuming you’re not carrying any hazardous communicable diseases, you’ll then collect your uniform, Welcome Aboard kit, and you’ll be shown to your quarters.”

“Brutal,” Lister murmured, anxious to finally be settled and on his way home.

“The personnel officer will be here soon to escort you to the medibay. In the meantime do you have any questions? ”

“I don’t think so. Well, maybe just one. How long before the ship gets back to Earth? A few weeks?”

“A few weeks?” Henderson looked at Lister incredulously. “Kid, this is a mining vessel. We’ve got to get to Triton first before we even think about going back to earth.”

Lister felt like his insides were beginning to liquefy. “How long does it take to get to Triton?”

“Well,” Henderson turned and began to tap on the keys of the computer. “Triton’s around Neptune, that trip will take roughly eighteen months, then another twelve months for the actual mining, then once that’s done, it’ll be about two more years time before we can get back to Earth.”

Lister’s mind whirled as he did the necessary addition in his head. “Over four years?”

“Yes, that sounds about right.” There was a knock at his door and Henderson cleared his throat before saying, “Come in.” A slender business-like looking woman stepped through the door and gestured in salute.

“Personnel Officer Farrell, sir. Here for the new recruit, sir.” Her voice was clear and pleasant, but Lister barely heard it. He was reeling from the news that he would be nearly thirty by the time he ever saw Earth again. Practically an old man. He stood, his mind in a fog, and followed the personnel officer out the door without saying a word.

After several minutes of her attempts at small-talk being met by little more than grunts and head-shakes, Farrell gave up and sat in awkward silence in the Xpress Lift beside Lister. She’d even tried to engage him by introducing him to the ship’s computer Holly, but Lister had merely given a weak smile, and waved at the giant balding head. “Four years,” Lister kept thinking over and over again. “Four years.”

The phrase continued to drone on in his head like a skipping record as he was escorted into the medibay. After a very welcome shower in the sanitation suite, he was ushered through several hours of jabs, squeezes, and tests. Although he felt much better now that he was clean, it wasn’t until a nurse asked him if he’d eaten and brought him a kebab from one of the dispensers, that his mood started to improve. He sat on the examination table in his backless gown, the paper underneath him crinkling as he shoveled the kebab into his face. Although it wasn’t great as far as kebabs went, it was the first thing he’d eaten in ages that didn’t come with its own teeth marks and he felt considerably more cheerful as he licked the last bits of sauce from his fingertips.

“Maybe this won’t be so bad?” Lister thought as he crumpled up the wrapper and chucked it into a nearby bin. “Four years isn’t so long. The food’s not bad, I’ll have a proper bed for a change, and who knows? Maybe I can actually make something of meself while I’m here. Maybe I’ll finally quit being such a smeghead and pissing me life away.” He even managed to make some small talk and flirt a little with officer Farrell when she returned with a small stack of folded uniforms and Lister’s Welcome Aboard kit. As the officer left the room, Lister gratefully flung off the surgical gown and pulled on his new uniform. It was made of cheap cloth and was a bit too snug in the rear, but he was happy to have something clean to put on after spending a full day covered in his own blood and Mimian funk. He topped it all with his deerstalker and decided he didn’t look too bad as he admired himself in the reflection of the glass window. He peeked into the plastic bag emblazoned with the JMC logo that held his Welcome Aboard kit. It contained a toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, towel, a bottle of water, and a miniature bag of crisps, all standard ship’s issue and all a monotonous shade of gunmetal grey. He fumbled around in the bottom and found an additional box secreted away underneath the towel and snorted as he got a look at it. A box of three ship’s issue condoms.

There was a rap at the door, “All set in there?”

“Yeah,” Lister called out as he absentmindedly pocketed the condoms.

“All right,” Officer Farrell opened the door and gestured to Lister. “Your tests all came back fine, we’ve just got to get you to the computer decks to get your personality uploaded, and then I’ll show you to your quarters.”

“Personality uploaded?” Lister queried.

“It’s standard procedure for all crew onboard JMC vessels,” Farrell said. “We have the computing power to keep one hologramatic crewmember on this ship. The personality disks are used to keep everybody’s personalities recorded in case they die during the course of the mission. The deceased crewmember who is deemed indispensable, will be kept on as a hologram to continue their duties as best they can.”

“Cheerful,” Lister murmured as he followed Farrell down a winding corridor. “What are the chances that I’d ever be brought back as a hologram if I bit the dust?”

“With your rank?” Farrell glanced down at her clipboard. “I’d say it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

About an hour later, Farrell escorted Lister from the computer deck as he tried to shake the rather uncomfortable feeling that his brain had just been given an enema. They boarded another Xpress Lift and Lister marveled once more at the enormity of the ship. He felt as if he’d walked, rolled, and been elevated miles since he arrived that morning, but still there was more ship. He watched anxiously as the numbers on the lift crawled rapidly upward before halting at floor 9,172. Officer Farrell escorted Lister onto a ship rover and explained that they were heading towards Area P, the sleeping quarters. Lister began to nod off as the miniature bus rolled through endless corridors, all painted in matching muted shades of JMC grey. “Here we are,” she smiled at Lister about half an hour later, as they pulled up to a corridor lined with identical doors with tiny glass windows. Lister snorted out of a half-doze and hopped off of the rover, shouldering his kit bag.

“You’ll be sharing of course, it’s all standard for your level of rank,” Farrell said as she stepped over to one of the doors and rapped on it. “Officer Farrell here with your new bunkmate,” she called through the door.

After a few moments, the door slid open and Lister felt a massive shock blast through his nervous system. Standing there was a very familiar astro; tall with unruly curls. “Arn?!” Lister blurted out happily. He grinned widely and then winced as his tender lip was stretched taut. Rimmer’s jaw dropped open as the color drained from his face.

“You two know one another?” Farrell looked between them incredulously.

Lister’s grin began to wilt as he saw the look on Rimmer’s face. The astro quickly clapped his mouth closed and his expression changed from disbelief to an angry grimace as his brows dipped in a frown.

“Arn?” Lister’s eyes were wide with confusion as he looked up at the man who’d wanted to take him out to dinner, just a short night ago.

Rimmer cleared his throat before screwing his face up into an exaggerated expression of confusion. “I’m sorry but I think you must be confusing me with someone else. I’m sure that I’ve never seen you before in my life.”


	7. Chapter 7

Lister stared back at Rimmer in disbelief. Was he losing his mind? He wasn’t blind, and there was no doubt this was the same astro he’d slept with just the other day. “Arn? It’s me, Dave.”

“You see, there? That settles it.” Rimmer’s face looked smug but his eyes were frantic as he tried to mask the notes of panic in his voice. “I don’t know anyone named Dave, so clearly you’ve got me mixed up with some other chap.”

“But he knows your name, Rimmer,” Officer Farrell said as she looked confusedly between the two men.

“I know, what an amazing coincidence isn’t it? That there would be two men who look like me who are both named Arnold. I’m telling you it’s uncanny.” Lister’s face dropped further as he realized that Rimmer was completely avoiding his gaze.

“Well anyway, Rimmer, this is Lister. He’s your new bunkmate.” Farrell began scribbling some things onto her clipboard as she gestured Lister inside.

“My what?!” Rimmer’s voice rose several octaves as he stepped back in shock.

“Your new bunkmate, Rimmer. You’ve been due one for several weeks now, ever since Reilly was reassigned.”

“Well you’ve got to find somebody else then! There must be somebody!”

Farrell pressed on, pointedly ignoring Rimmer’s protestations. “You’re also to be his shift leader.”

“His what?!” Rimmer’s face began to rapidly shift from red to white as he followed Farrell to the other side of the sleeping quarters.

“Arn,” Lister said quietly as Rimmer passed in front of him. “I don’t understand, why are you acting like this?”

“Shut up, I don’t know you.” Rimmer whispered harshly before he turned back to Officer Farrell. “Look this is ridiculous, I demand you find someone else, I need another bunkmate.”

“Look, Rimmer,” Farrell glared up at the astro and placed her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what your problem is, or what is going on between the two of you, but you need a bunkmate, and Lister’s it. He’s only a third technician and all the other shifts are filled, so that means he belongs under Z-shift. You’re already in hot water with Todhunter after those last three crewmembers resigned from your command. Now do you really want to go making a fuss about this and risk getting yourself demoted from first technician back to second? You’re already on very thin ice as it is.”

Rimmer looked as if both sides of his face were locked in a wrestling match. “I simply cannot bunk with this… this person.”

“And why not?” Officer Farrell said coolly. Rimmer glowered at her as he struggled to find an answer. While he thought, Farrell leaned over, gripped Lister’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Look I’m sorry about this, but these are the only quarters available right now. Hopefully the two of you can work out whatever this is about. If you need anything, I’m up in personnel, Holly can help you find the offices.”

“It’s fine, thanks.” Lister gave her a little nod as she turned and walked towards the door.

“Remember, Rimmer.” Farrell looked back at him as she stood in the doorway. “If I hear any complaints out of you I’m going straight to Todhunter.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Rimmer hissed as she walked through the door. Lister stood near the bunks, his head a muddle of confusion as he held his kit to his chest.

“Arn? I can’t believe it’s you. I mean what are the chances?” Lister spoke softly, hoping perhaps that the astro’s changed attitude had just been an act to keep up appearances for Officer Farrell.

“Don’t talk to me,” Rimmer’s voice was as cold and emotionless as the grey walls surrounding them, and Lister’s heart sank. “As far as I’m concerned, you and I have nothing to say to one another.”

“But why? Is this about last night? Do you think I stood you up? Look, I got mugged!” Lister shifted his things under one arm so he could point to his still-healing lip and his chipped tooth. “Almost as soon as you left these two guys showed up. They took me hopper, they took everything! All me money!” As he spoke, he moved closer to Rimmer, but the man backed away, his expression stony.

“Oh certainly,” Rimmer scoffed as he crossed his arms over his chest. “And how many other pathetic saps have you told this same story to before? Five? Ten? Fifteen?”

“Arn, what are you talking about?”

“I must have been out of my mind honestly, to trust a… well someone like you.”

“I am telling you the truth, and I was mugged! What? Do you think I split me own lip, and knocked a bit of me tooth out, just to make for a more convincing story?” Lister shook his head in disgust as he looked up at Rimmer.

“I wouldn’t put it past your type. You’d do anything to make a few extra dollarpounds wouldn’t you? I can’t believe I was stupid enough to fall for all of that. To fall for…” Rimmer trailed off as he continued to glare silently into space.

“Look, Arn. I swear I’m telling you the truth, man. What more do you want me to say?”

“Say?” Rimmer whirled on Lister, his eyes dark with anger. “I don’t want you to say anything. As far as I’m concerned, yesterday never happened, and we’ve nothing to say to one another.”

“But it did happen, and I thought we had a good time?”

“Oh, certainly. You always make sure everyone has a good time don’t you? That’s your job, isn’t it, Lister?” Rimmer said his name with an inflection that made Lister cringe.

“Look, the only reason I’m even here is because I got mugged. You know I was trying to earn me way back to Earth. I joined the Space Corps because I didn’t know what else to do. They took everything I had, everything I’d been saving up! I had nowhere to go! I wouldn’t even be here if things hadn’t happened the way I’m saying!” Lister threw his things down in disgust as he shook his head at Rimmer.

“How did you even get on board so quickly? No one ever gets on a ship only a day after applying, it always takes weeks.” Rimmer looked at Lister blackly.

Lister’s stomach turned in revulsion as he thought about Zadnik. “I… I…”

Rimmer smirked, his hands behind his back as he closed the distance so he and Lister were toe to toe. “Exactly how many cocks did you have to suck to get yourself a place on this ship, hmmm? Three? Five? Or was it more?”

Lister glared up at him, his eyes dark. “You’re a bastard, Rimmer.”

“A little too close to home there, Listy?” Rimmer looked smug as he gazed down into Lister’s face.

“You know I can’t believe that I actually liked you. I thought you were different, but you’re not. You’re just a pathetic, weaselly, smegheaded, git just like all the rest.”

“And you’re just a whore,” Rimmer spat out, venomously.

“Yeah, maybe I am a whore, but at least I don’t deny being one. Unlike some people I know. Officer? You’re no smegging officer, you’re just a technician like I am. Going around in an officer’s uniform, pretending you’re some big-time astro when you’re nothing but a cleaner with a fancy mop and a JMC badge.”

Rimmer pursed his lips and fumed, “At least I didn’t have to suck and fuck my way on board.”

“You sure didn’t have a problem with it yesterday afternoon, in case you’d forgotten. I wouldn’t be doing any sucking or fucking if it weren’t for people like you. People who can’t get a leg up without paying for it. You’re standing there trying to judge me for what I had to do, and you’re the one who shelled out over 150 dollarpounds for a blowjob and a shag. You’re pathetic that’s what you are, Rimmer. A pathetic loser.” Rimmer glared down at Lister, his lips quivering with rage before he turned on his heels and stomped from their quarters.

Lister stood for several minutes, every muscle in his body trembling from a combination of exhaustion, adrenaline, and pure anger. After a while, he sank down on the small couch in the tiny living area of their quarters and breathed a sigh of resignation. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. He had to not only wind up on the same ship as the jerk he'd just had sex with, but be put in the same room as him as well. What were the odds?

“Holly?” Lister called out experimentally, unsure if the computer was really as omnipotent as he had claimed to be earlier.

“Yeah, Dave?” Holly replied just a few moments later, his bald head shining from the screen that hung over the wash basin.

“What are the odds that someone I shagged on Mimas, would wind up being on this same ship, and sharing the same room as me?” Lister reached in his hat for a cigarette before remembering that they’d been confiscated when he went into the sanitation suite.

Holly thought for just a split second before responding, “Well, if you take into account the population on Mimas, and the number of personnel onboard the different Space Corps vessels, and the amount of vessels in the Space Corps, you’re talking pretty astronomical odds.”

“How astronomical?”

“Roughly, if you round it out, about three million to one.”

“Three million to one?” Lister sat up straight, astonished. “That’s crazy!”

“You can say that again. Anything else, Dave?”

“Yeah, where can I get me a pack of ciggies?”

“There are dispensers on every floor, but you need JMC credit to be able to get any. You’ll have to wait for your first pay packet.”

“Smegging hell. When’s that?”

“Paydays are every other Thursday. Seein’ as you haven’t started working yet, you’ll have to wait another nine days.”

“Nine days? Smeg. I can’t wait that long.” Lister groaned into his fists as he slouched deeper into the rock-hard loveseat.

“Tell you what, I’ll have a word with the dispensers on this floor, I’ll let them know to give you your first few packs on credit. If they give you any trouble, just give me a shout.” Holly’s big head did its best to look tough as he nodded at Lister.

“That’d be great. Thanks loads, Hol. I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it. Anything else I can help you with?”

“Naw, you’re all right. Thanks again Hol.” Lister took off his deerstalker and began to scratch at his head, as he mulled over the insanity of the whole situation.

“You sure you’re ok, Dave?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“First day aboard’s always a bit of a rush, innit?”

“Yeah, you can say that again.” Lister sighed heavily as the moon-headed face winked out and the screen went back to simulating a mirror. “Smeg,” Lister muttered, as he rubbed his head in his hands and struggled to get comfortable on the rock-like cushions.

Lister tried to calm down, as he fought the dull pit of anger that was throbbing inside of him. Mainly he was angry at himself. How could he have been so stupid? To think he had been foolish enough to believe that a John might be a genuinely nice guy. In the end, people who paid for sex were all alike. They used you, and then tossed you aside once they’d had their fill. Now he was stuck on this ship with this arsehole for four smegging years. If it were happening to anyone other than himself, the sheer ridiculousness of the levels of misfortune and coincidence might have been entertaining. Lister didn’t necessarily believe in reincarnation, but he still found himself wondering what he’d done in a past life, to have had such bad karma in this one. Why did bad things always seem to happen to him?

Lister sighed heavily again as exhaustion began to seep into his bones. Cigarettes were going to have to wait. Apart from the cat nap he’d been able to grab on the shuttle to Red Dwarf, he’d not had a proper sleep in well over twenty-four hours. Leaving his kit on the floor, he walked over to the bunks. The bottom bunk, the larger one of course, was crisply made, and decorated along the sides with no smoking signs, and newspaper clippings that read, “Arnie does it best!” And “Rimmer’s our man!”

“Completely pathetic,” Lister muttered, as he climbed into the top bunk, not even bothering to remove his ship issued boots. He plopped his head down on a pillow that was a bit lumpy, but was at least clean and dry. Lister spent a few scant moments wondering how you turned off the lights, before his brain took command of his harried body and put him immediately to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Lister emerged from sleep several hours later with all the grace of a mummy rising from its tomb. Instead of the familiar feeling of hopper upholstery beneath him, there were crisp white sheets. It took him several seconds before the contents of his brain unraveled enough to remember where he was. He braced himself on his wrists and pushed himself up as he blinked in the darkness. Darkness? He hadn’t turned off the lights, someone else must have done it. Suddenly his encounter with Rimmer snapped into his memory with sharp clarity. He slumped his shoulders and let out a rumbly groan. He instinctively reached out with fumbling fingers for his hat, before remembering that he had no cigarettes. He let his face fall back into the pillow and moaned into the unnaturally sterile fabric.

“Smeeeeeeeeeeg…” His hot breath filtered through the pillow like a sudden fog. “Maybe I can just stay like this and slowly suffocate,” he thought idly. “It might be better than the alternative.” A sudden desperate craving for nicotine crawled its way through his nervous system, and he sighed as he propped his face out of the warm folds of suicidal temptation. “Cigarette first,” he decided as he swung his legs from the bunk, and landed with a dull thud on the metal floor.

Lister groped his way in the darkness until he felt the cool metal of the door frame. “Smeg,” he muttered under his breath as he felt around for a handle and turned up nothing. “How the smeg do you unlock this thing?” As soon as the word, “unlock” left his lips, the door zipped open with a whoosh. Lister squinted at the sudden brightness of the hallway as he stumbled through the doorway.

“Now how do you close the damn thing?” he thought idly. He tried ‘shut’, ‘close’ and ‘lock’ before the latter finally made the door zip shut again. Feeling somewhat pleased with himself for figuring out the door mechanism so quickly, Lister set off to find one of the dispensers Holly had talked about.

It didn’t take Lister long to find one, just down the hall and around the corner, nestled among a long line of various food and drink dispensers. The colorful back-lit display on the tall machine read: “Special JMC Brand Cigarettes! Half the Nicotine, for a Happier You!” Lister grimaced at the thought of off-brand cigarettes, but figured any cigarettes were better than nothing.

“Hi,” he tapped the display lightly as his eyes scanned the various varieties the machine offered.

“Good evening, sir.” The dispenser boomed out in a velvety voice. “How can I help you?”

“I’m new here, but Holly said I could have a few packs on credit before I get me first pay packet. Can you help me out?”

“Certainly sir, I just need your identification code.”

“My wha’?”

“Your identity code, sir.” The lights on the machine flashed as it spoke succinctly. “Every crewmember is issued an identity code for security purposes. Do you have your ID badge on you?”

Lister felt around in his pockets idly, he didn’t remember getting a badge during any of his whirlwind orientation the day before. “I don’t think so, can’t you just look up me name or something?”

“I’m sorry sir, but it’s against ship’s regulations to grant credit without an ident code.”

“Oh c’mon, man. Seriously? I just want a pack of cigarettes. Look, you’ve got no idea the day I’ve had.” Lister groaned as he rested his head against the machine in despair.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, sir.” Lister only grumbled in response as his breath began to fog up the glass on the front of the machine.

“Can I help you?” Lister started as a clear feminine voice rang out behind him and turned to see a young woman standing in bare feet, her shorts and tank top slightly obscured by the brightly-colored duvet she had wrapped around her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” She smiled a smile that lit up her face like a pinball machine.

Lister smiled back, “Sorry, I’m just new here and having a bit of trouble with the dispenser. Don’t know my ident number.”

“New on the ship? Well, welcome aboard. What were you trying to get?”

“Just a pack of cigarettes, filtered regulars.”

“Right,” she nodded as she turned to the dispenser. “Kochanski, RD-37105. A packet of filtered regulars please.”

“Certainly, ma’am.” The dispenser whirred before it spit out a shiny silver packet.

“Here you are,” she said as she fished the packet out of the dispenser and handed it over to Lister who took it gratefully.

“Thanks, er….”

“Kristine,” she shifted her grip on the duvet so she could hold out a hand towards Lister.

“Dave. I guess I owe you one then, eh?” Lister noted that her fingers were soft, and slender as he shook her hand.

“Consider it a welcome aboard present. We’ve all been there before. First day, new place, it’s all a bit disorientating isn’t it?” She padded over to a nearby chocolate dispenser and ordered a king-sized Wispa bar.

“Disorientating, yeah. That’s one way to look at it.” Lister smiled weakly as he tapped the packet of cigarettes against his palm. He looked at Kristine Kochanski as she tore open her Wispa bar eagerly. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something about her that he found instantly attractive. Maybe it was the way her pale shoulders peeked out from the thin straps of the top she was wearing, or the way her dark hair framed her friendly face.

“Sorry,” she mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate. “I don’t normally pig out like this.”

“Everything ok?” Lister asked.

“Just a row with my boyfriend,” she said as she rolled her eyes to the corridor ceiling. “You know, just your typical Sunday night hijinks.”

Lister thought of Rimmer, who was probably lying in the lower bunk still trying his damnedest to pretend he hadn’t paid money for his new bunkmate to have sex with him just yesterday. Was it really only yesterday? It felt like a lifetime ago. He laughed, “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Really?” Kochanski cocked a well-manicured eyebrow as she took another large bite of chocolate. “Do tell,” She mumbled around her mouthful of chocolate as she leaned casually against the dispenser.

“It’s a long story. Maybe some other time.” Lister grinned as he felt around in his pockets. “Smeg, you don’t have a light do you?”

“Sorry, don’t smoke.” Kochanski smiled as she hitched the duvet up over her shoulders. “I’ve got to be getting back to bed, it was nice to meet you, Dave.”

Lister nodded at her, “Nice to meet you as well. And hey, thanks again.” Kochanski waved and replied, “Don't mention it, maybe I’ll see you around? ” She took another bite of chocolate as she turned and walked down the corridor. “I’m sure you will,” Lister repeated as she disappeared around the corner.

“Nice girl,” Lister thought as he absently tucked his cigarette behind his ear and shoved the rest of the pack down into his trouser pocket. “Now how the smeg do I get back?”

After a few wrong turns, Lister eventually found his way back to his shared quarters. He slid his hands along the wall as he tried to feel his way to the recessed bunks. Finally his fingers felt the edges of the ladder to the top bunk and he quickly pulled himself up. As he settled on his stomach, he listened intently for any signs of breathing or snoring coming from the space beneath him. Silence. “Maybe he’s just a really quiet sleeper?” Lister thought absently as he felt around for his deerstalker hat. He fished his fingers around in the flaps until he felt a thin cardboard book of matches. “Yeahhhhh!” Lister did a small victory wiggle as he flipped onto his back, pulled his cigarette from behind his ear and lit it.

Lister pulled in the first lungful of smoke like a freediver breaking the surface. As the air in his lungs was displaced, a feeling of intense peacefulness and calm began to settle over him like a warm blanket. He exhaled slowly, letting the feeling intensify as the nicotine began to filter into his bloodstream. He let his head settle comfortably into his pillow as he took another deep drag. “This is good,” he thought as he let the smoke billow out from between his lips. “I’ve got a warm place to sleep, I’ll get three square meals a day, and…” he stared at the glowing end of his cigarette as he flicked some ashes over the side of the bunk. “I’ve got cigarettes.” He crossed his boots at the ankle as he took another lazy drag. “Everything’s going to be ok.”

 _“Is that a cigarette you’re smoking!?”_ The nasally voice, quivering with fury, echoed as it reverberated through the metal of the bunks.

“Oh smegging hell.” Lister grunted and pulled his hat over his face before muttering into the folds, “Everything’s going to be ok.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait again. Life gets in the way of writing sometimes. :-)

Everything wasn’t ok. As the days he spent on Red Dwarf changed into weeks and months, Lister began to look back on his Mimian locker with almost saccharine fondness. Cramming yourself into a space meant for a standard-sized suitcase might not have been ideal, but in many ways it was preferable to daily life with Arnold J Rimmer. His split lip and swollen nose had long healed, but the follow-up encounter with Rimmer had left wounds that were not so easily mended.

Lister had seen no point in attempting to reason with his bunkmate any further after what he had begun to think of as “the bunkroom incident”. Lister wasn’t one to hold a grudge usually, but Rimmer’s behavior and the things he’d said were something that he couldn’t just ignore. They’d spent their first two days together on Z-shift in an explosively charged silence. On the third day, after Lister couldn’t stand the silence any longer, he’d made a crack about Rimmer spending his evenings in bed with his sonic super mop jammed into a particular orifice. After that they’d gradually settled into a regular exchange of venomous snipes, jabs, and insults. It was hardly a happy arrangement, but it was better than the endless silence.

Lister had made some acquaintances among the assorted rabble who made up Z-shift, and the other crewmembers he encountered at the canteen, but he occasionally would get a sinking feeling that he recognized some of the faces in the crowd from his days on Mimas. He dreaded that a day would come when someone would be introduced to him and they’d say, “Why yes, I believe you’ve been inside of me.” That combined with the fact that Rimmer almost always insisted that he supervise Lister on every task he was assigned, left Lister feeling almost more isolated on Red Dwarf than he’d felt on Mimas. There were 1,167 other people on the mining ship; everyone from chefs, bakers, and cleaners to personnel officers, chemists, and physicians. Lister never imagined it would be possible to feel as lonely as he did on a ship with over a thousand people.

Adding insult to an already tender injury was the fact that Lister was also painfully horny on a daily basis. He hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d become to having regular sex, until he’d had to stop it cold turkey. To go from having as many as 3-10 (the ten was on one particularly memorable day) sexual partners in a day to having zero, had left Lister practically humping the ship's walls in frustration. Even masturbation was hard to manage, due to his bunking with Rimmer. Rimmer never fell asleep before Lister as he was always staying up to insane hours, going over texts on astronavigation, or making up one of his ridiculous study timetables. Normally Lister wouldn’t be the sort to care if a roommate caught him rubbing one out, but he refused to give Rimmer the satisfaction. Only the occasional frantic shower wank had kept him from going completely insane.

The horniness on its own might not have been so bad, but Lister also happened to be sharing both a room and a workday with his last sexual partner. Even with him and Rimmer on the outs, Lister still found his mind occasionally wandering to their last encounter together. He could still remember the feel of Rimmer’s long, cool fingers as they’d wrapped around him, and the heat of his slender cock as it spasmed inside of him. Every time he found himself idly thinking about it, he became more and more annoyed with himself. If only he hadn’t enjoyed the sex so much, it might have made things easier to keep the explicit thoughts out of his head. He lamented that Rimmer had turned out to be such a bastard.

The long, late hours on Z-shift and the unending horniness were finally starting to take their toll on Lister one evening. He had just spent the better part of two hours polishing the outsides of all the dispensers in corridor 473. Lister’s knees and back were screaming from the constant bending, and his libido was screaming from lack of exercise when Rimmer sidled up behind him, his hands clasped behind his back and his lips pursed.

“Nearly finished there, Lister?” Lister inwardly cringed as he always did when Rimmer said his name with that mocking inflection, like he was speaking to a small, poorly behaved child.

“Yes, Rimmer.” Lister pointedly spoke Rimmer’s name with as much heavy emphasis on the “Rim” as he could manage. He had learned, just from watching the way the man’s lips twitched and nostrils flared whenever his name was mentioned, that Rimmer hated hearing it spoken.

Like a clock chiming the hour, the nostrils flared and the lips quivered. “That’s _Mister_ Rimmer _sir_ , Lister. And don’t you forget it.”

“Sorry, Mister Rimmer _sir_.” Lister practically spat out the word as he gave an exaggerated impression of Rimmer’s own special salute, ending it with slapping himself in the forehead.

Rimmer ignored the mimicry, and bent down to inspect Lister’s handiwork. “What did you use to polish this dispenser?”

Lister sighed as he stretched his back and heard a few satisfying cracks. “A rag and Plasti-Glo. Same as always.”

“Oh dear.” Rimmer muttered as he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”

“What’s the problem _this_ time?”

“You haven’t read your Z-shift manual have you, Lister?”

Lister rolled his eyes to the corridor ceiling. “Rimmer, the smegging thing is over two hundred pages long. No one’s read that thing.”

“The manual clearly states...” Rimmer pulled out the thick tome from the bottom of Lister’s cart. Its binding was stiff and crisp from lack of use.  “...On page ninety-seven, that the proper way to polish the dispensers is to generously apply several thin layers of Plasti-Glo with a microfibre cloth.”

“Yeah, so wha’?”

“You didn’t use a microfibre cloth did you, Lister?” Rimmer looked grim as he shook his head.

“No, and so smegging what?”

“So smegging what, Lister? So smegging _what?"_  Rimmer’s face began to redden as his voice became high-pitched. “The point is, that once one rule is broken, the whole system can collapse! You break a rule here, you break a rule there, what’s to stop you from always breaking the rules? Then what do we have?”

“Some fun for a change?” Lister quipped as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“ _Anarchy, Lister!_  That’s what. Now get a microfibre cloth and do the polishing again.”

“What?”

“You heard me, miladdo.”

“Rimmer, there is no way I’m polishing every one of those dispensers again. They look fine, no one’s going to notice any difference.”

“I’ll notice the difference!” Rimmer shouted as he stabbed his thumb into his chest. “You can’t expect me to sign off on a job that wasn’t done right. Now do them over again.”

“No.” Lister grabbed his deerstalker hat from the tools trolley and slapped it on his head. Rimmer’s fake mustache still clung stubbornly to the front of it. Lister had left it in place for all these months, simply because he knew it drove Rimmer nuts. He had taken to sleeping with the hat on so that Rimmer wouldn’t get the satisfaction of being able to steal it and throw it away himself.

Rimmer’s face became as red as a cliff in a spaghetti western, as he glared at the hat furiously. Lister thought it wouldn’t look out of place if a cowboy on a horse suddenly thundered its way out of Rimmer’s nostril yelling, ‘Yeehah!’ Lister tried to suppress a snigger at the mental picture as Rimmer shouted at him, “What did you say?”

“I said, _no_.” Lister leaned forward, spitting out the last syllable into Rimmer’s face.

Rimmer’s lips began to quiver with anger. “You’ll do them, and you’ll do them right, or you’re going on report.”

“So smegging report me.” Lister grabbed his jacket from the trolley and began to walk towards the lifts, leaving Rimmer sputtering behind him.

“You leave and you’ll regret it, Lister. I’m warning you, you set one foot onto that lift and I’ll have you on paint duty for nine months. You hear me, Lister?  _Nine months!"_

“It’ll be well smegging worth it to not have to put up with you!” Lister flipped him a two-finger salute as he disappeared through the lift doors. He sighed heavily as they slid closed behind him, muffling Rimmer’s continued curses.

“Smegging hell,” Lister muttered as he leaned against the shiny metal wall, slipped his jacket onto his shoulders and rubbed his forehead with the heels of his hands. “I need a drink.” He adjusted  his deerstalker on his head and pressed the button for floor three hundred and seventy-five.

Floor three hundred and seventy-five was home to Neutrino’s: one of the quieter pubs onboard Red Dwarf. It didn’t have the party atmosphere of some of the other clubs and bars, so it was a good place to have a sit-down with a quiet drink. Lister took a seat at the bar, idly taking in the plain white walls and framed prints of art so dull and inoffensive you’d practically forgotten about it even before you’d looked away. He ordered a can of Leopard lager and the bartender served it to him in a frosted pint mug.

“Classy,” Lister thought as he downed half of it in a long, slow slug. His thirst quenched, he sighed heavily as he stared ahead at the rows of bottles behind the bar. “Life,” he thought for the fourth or fifth time that day, “Sucks.”

“You know, if I wasn’t seeing you with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed it. I’d have thought I was dreaming.”

Lister felt a mighty jolt of surprise in his chest as the husky voice immediately lit up his memory circuits. “Oh smegging, hell,” He groaned as he buried his head in his hands.

“What? You’re not happy to see me?” Lister pulled his head out of his hands as a stern looking man with prominent ears sat in the seat beside him. Lister remembered the man well. Several months ago back on Mimas, Lister had spent nearly every evening for an entire week fucking him silly while he’d screamed into the satin upholstery of the hopper and begged Lister for more. The man leaned in and whispered into Lister’s ear, “Your favorite customer?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Lister grumbled as he turned to face the man and saw that his chest was emblazoned with a badge that read Ackerman. “So, should I dispense with the formalities and still call you ‘Wild Bill’?”

“Ackerman will be fine, thanks.” The man mumbled as his balding head grew pinker around the edges. “Is your name really Dave?”

“Yeah, it is actually. So, you work here too?”

“Small universe, isn’t it?” Ackerman laughed as he smiled a twitchy smile. “I’m actually the head of security here you know. Does that impress you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Ackerman looked mildly offended as he smoothed out the small fringe of hair that circled his head. “Well! What brings you here? I never thought I’d get to see those bedroom eyes outside of that dreadful hopper of yours.”

Lister pressed his lips together in annoyance before answering, “I’m working here now.”

“Working here? My word.” The only other patrons of the bar were two other JMC employees who were doing their best to avoid small talk by staring directly into their pints, but Ackerman still leaned in towards Lister conspiratorially. “Has Hollister finally decided to take a sex worker on board? You know, when I submitted that anonymous request, I never imagined he’d take it seriously.”

“No!” Lister shouted a bit more loudly than he’d intended. “I’ve given that up. _Permanently_.” He added when he saw an unconvinced look in Ackerman’s eyes.

“Are you serious? But you’re so damned good at it, man.” Ackerman took a long pull from his pint glass as he looked Lister up and down.

“It’s not like it was top on my list of possible career paths.” Lister muttered as he emptied the rest of his pint.

“Well it’s a crying shame I’ll tell you that.” Ackerman glanced around shiftily before he whispered in Lister’s ear. “Letting a pair of lips and a cock like that go to waste.”

Lister shifted in his seat so he was leaning away from Ackerman. “I’m not letting anything go to waste.”

“Oh really?” Ackerman’s lips twitched as he leaned back towards  Lister. “Is that a thinly veiled proposition, Dave?”

“No, it’s not.” Lister whispered fiercely as he rolled his eyes at the officer’s clumsy attempts to woo him.

“Pity,” Ackerman responded with a sigh as he sat back in his seat. “Well if you ever decide you want to be open for business again, be sure to let me know.”

“I won’t be, but thanks.”

Ackerman’s lips pressed into a wry smile as he looked around furtively. “I know someone else who’s going to be glad to see you here.”

Lister tried not to stare at Ackerman’s left eye which never seemed to be exactly in synch with the right one. “Yeah? And who’s that?”

“A particularly insufferable, trumped up, overbearing little git by the name of Rimmer. Apparently he had _quite_ a time with you.” Ackerman chuckled as he finished off his beer and gestured to the barkeep for a refill.

Lister felt the beginnings of a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He put down his empty glass with a hollow clank. “Hang on, what do you know about me and Rimmer?”

“Only that I found him sobbing into his white wine spritzer, drunk out of his smegging mind a few months ago at the Happy Astro. Poor sot. Of course being the kind, and sensitive sort of a fellow that I am, I asked him what was wrong. He told me he’d been stood up by some fellow that he’d fallen in love with.”

Lister’s head began to swim as Ackerman gleefully recounted his story. “Naturally I asked who this dream man was. The blubbering bastard was so drunk he didn’t even stutter and spilled the whole story. How you picked him up in your hopper, how _wonderful_  you’d been to him, how _sweet_ and _kind_ you were. God it was pathetic. Imagine thinking you’d fallen in love with someone who you paid for a shag?”

The inside of Lister’s mouth suddenly felt dry and cottony. The bartender arrived with refills for the both of them. Lister grabbed his second pint from the bar and took a long swig. “What did you tell him?”

“Well I knew right away that he had to have been talking about you. God you should have heard him.” Ackerman put on a cruelly accurate imitation of Rimmer’s voice. “He had eyes as brown as telegraph poles after a rainstorm, lips like two soft kissable pillows, and hair like soft wool with some ratty bits at the back.” Ackerman began to laugh openly at the memory. “Clearly poetry isn’t his strong suit.”

“ _What_  did you _tell_ him?” Lister demanded as he felt the blood rushing hot and red to his head.

“Well I told him that he was a fool to think he was in love with you, of course. I told him that I knew exactly the guy that he was talking about. Oh I didn’t go into detail about our little escapades together, that’s my own business. But I told him that being sweet and adorable is your modus operandi. I figured you’d used all your best lines on him. ‘I just want to make you happy’, ‘I’ll take good care of you’, ‘I _want_ you’. You should have seen his face. I got him straightened out pretty quickly.”

“Oh smegging hell,” Lister groaned, as suddenly Rimmer’s attitude over the last few months became crystal clear.

“What? Someone had to set the crazy love-sick bastard straight. He was making a fool of himself.” Ackerman shrugged as he took a sip of his beer.

“You don’t understand, man.” Lister grimaced as he gripped his pint mug tighter. “Rimmer’s me bunkmate now. We work together. He’s me shift manager too. He’s been a right smegging bastard to me ever since I’ve come aboard and it’s all because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut. Oh, smegging, smegging, smeg.” Lister let go of his mug and began to squeeze his forehead, as if he could squeeze all this new information out of it like his brain were a juicy lemon.

“Wait, you’re rooming with Rimmer? You got assigned to bunk with Rimmer?”

“Yes. I’m stuck spending all of every single smegging day with him.”

“Extraordinary.” Ackerman stared off into space as he leaned against the bar. “What are the odds of that?” He squinched up his eyes and scratched at one of his sideburns as he pondered.

“Three million to one,” Lister muttered unhappily.

“Look, Dave. I’m sorry I’ve smegged things up for you. Really I am. But how was I to know you’d wind up here onboard the ship? I figured we’d leave port and he’d never see you again.”

“So did I.”

“I mean you really did a number on him. All that rubbish about being stranded, wanting to get back to Earth. You sure know how to play a guy.”

If looks could kill, Ackerman’s family would have already been making funeral arrangements. “I wasn’t playing him, you colossal prick. All that stuff is true. I really did get stranded on Mimas, and I really am trying to get back to Earth. That’s what I’m doing here! Trying to get back home.”

Ackerman cast a doubtful look Lister’s way as he sipped at his beer. “You’re serious? All that business about the Monopoly pub crawl and the crimplene hat?”

“Yes. That’s what happened. Why would anyone make up a stupid story like that?”

“You make a fair point,” Ackerman said with a nod, his eyebrows knotted together in surprise under the expanse of his smooth head.

“God, man. You don’t know what you’ve done. No wonder he’s had it in for me this whole time. He thinks I took him for a ride. I swear I didn’t. I was going to meet him for dinner and everything but then I got mugged.”

“Mugged?”

“Yeah. This big fella punched me in the face and I blacked out. They took all me money, me hopper, I lost everything.”

“Well that hopper was a bit trashy, you could have done much better.”

Lister glared at Ackerman and took a heavy swallow of his pint. “If I recollect, you had some pretty good times in that hopper so don’t start with me.”

“My apologies,” Ackerman raised his hands in surrender. “And just so you know,” Ackerman lowered his voice as he glanced hurriedly from side to side. “It doesn’t escape my attention that this puts us both at one another’s mercy as far as keeping everything that happened between us quiet. I don’t intend to share any of this with the rest of the crew. Lord knows you’ve got more than enough incriminating evidence about me, so I certainly don’t intend to go around, slandering you to the rest of the crew. It wouldn’t be very nice of me anyway, and I did always like you, Dave.”

“Thanks.” Lister replied flatly.

“I hope you’ll do the same?”

“Don’t worry,” Lister crossed his index finger over his chest. “Your dirty secrets are safe with me, Wild Bill.”

“I do appreciate it. Look do you want me to try and smooth things over with Rimmer? Maybe I could…”

“No. Absolutely not. He wouldn’t believe you anyway. He’d probably just think that I sucked you off to get you to lie for me.”

“Hmmm…” Ackerman murmured thoughtfully at the suggestion. “Is there any chance that you cou…”

“No!”

“Just a joke, Dave. Just a joke.” He patted Lister on the shoulder clumsily and sat back on his bar stool. “I promise. I read you loud and clear. But look, if you don’t want me to talk to Rimmer, is there anything else I can do? I do feel badly that I’ve had a hand in aggravating this rather sticky situation.”

“Well you’re head of security, yeah? Is there any way you can lock Rimmer up until we get back to Earth?” Lister smirked as he took a sip from his pint.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ackerman winked as he finished his beer. “Why don’t you apply for another position? At least you wouldn’t be working under Rimmer anymore.”

“I’m not qualified to do anything else.” Lister replied glumly.

“Well, why don’t you do what you need to do to get yourself qualified? It’s going to be around four years before we get back to Earth. That’s plenty of time for you to take some classes and get out from underneath Rimmer’s thumb. You might as well do something, since you’re going to be stuck here regardless. The least you can do is try to make things better for yourself.”

"Hmmm..." Lister muttered thoughtfully into his pint as Ackerman’s words settled into his brain like a hermit crab finding a comfortable shell. “You know what? I just might do.”

“I hope you do,” Ackerman said as he stood up. “I’ve got to go, but I hope things work out. Keep a stiff upper lip, and maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“And if anything else gets stiff, you know that you can always…”

“Not happening.” Lister shook his head firmly as he kept his eyes on his pint.

“Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.” Ackerman smiled wistfully as he gave Lister’s shoulder a parting squeeze. “See you, Dave.”

“Yeah. See you.” As Lister watched the back of Ackerman’s shiny head disappear through the bar door, he sighed heavily. “Smeg man,” he said to himself. “Life really does suck.”

Lister stayed at Neutrino’s only long enough to get himself to a certain point of drunkenness. He wanted to be sober enough to get back to the bunkroom, but drunk enough to not care if Rimmer was waiting for him with a face like someone getting their first colonoscopy. Unfortunately for Lister, that meant that he’d thrown back the equivalent of two six-packs all on his own. By the time he left the bar, he was walking more or less diagonally. He stumbled through the corridors and the lift doors at a slant, loudly singing the chorus of “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” over and over again since he’d forgotten the words to the second verse. He was belting it out for the thirty-second time when he angled his way through the bunk room door. Rimmer glared up at him from his table where he was painstakingly painting a section of one of his elaborate timetables a lovely shade of turquoise.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

Lister screwed up his face and made a noncommittal, “Pfff,” sound.

“You are drunk.” Rimmer shook his head in disgust as Lister walked in a swerving path as if he was trying to avoid invisible puddles.

“M’ not drunk. You are. You’re always… whatever.” Lister mumbled as he let his jacket drop to the floor in a messy pile, and kicked it against the wall.

Rimmer glowered from his table. “You make me sick, Lister.”

“Yeah? I’d like to see ya’ try… Lucy in the skyyyyy…”

Rimmer clasped his hands over his ears and winced. “Would you stop that awful screeching? You can’t sing, you know.”

“I can, an’ ah will,” Lister blurted out defiantly before launching back into song. “Luuucyyy in the skyyyy…”

“I reported you to Hollister, you know?” A hard edge came into Rimmer’s voice. “He’ll have you painting the entire ship from end to end.”

“Tha’s great y’know that, Rimmer?” Lister said chirpily as he began to clamber up the ladder to his bunk. “I love paintin’! D’j’know I went to art college? I’ll pain’ the ship inside 'n’ out if they want me t’.”

Rimmer wrinkled his nose in irritation at Lister’s refusal to be baited by his insults. “For god’s sake, Lister. At least take your damned boots off first. You’re like the missing link between men and amoebas.”

“You wan’ 'em off? You take 'em off.” Lister muttered as he crawled his way to his pillow.

“God you’re pathetic. Do you know what’s wrong with you, Lister?”

“Naw, but I bet y’r g’win ta tell me, Rimmer.”

“You’ve got no ambition, no desire to better yourself. You’re a disgusting, drunken, slovenly loser, and that’s what you always will be.” Rimmer shook his head as he resumed his painting.

“Yeah? Well, a leas’ ‘v got one thing better’n you, Rimmer.”

“How do you figure that, Lister?”

“A’ leas’ I’m not a complete and total _smeghead_.” Lister let his head drop down onto his pillow, and before Rimmer could gather himself enough to form a retort, Lister had already fallen asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

“So, let me get this straight.” Lister’s voice had a sharp edge of irritation to it as he glared back at the Personnel Resources secretary. “I can’t get a new job because I haven’t got the right experience, but if I want to get any experience I need to get a new job?”

“I’m sorry we can’t be of more help, Mr Lister,” the sour-faced secretary mumbled as he shuffled through a pile of papers on his desk. “The problem is that you’re only a third technician, you’ve got no prior experience working on board a ship, and you’ve had almost no formal education.”

“There was those ninety-seven minutes I spent in art college! Those don’t count for nothing?”

“No, Mr Lister. I’m sorry but they don’t. Now if you had been on board the ship a bit longer and say been promoted to second or even first technician, there’s a chance we might be able to find something for you. As things stand right now, you’re not qualified to do anything else besides be a third technician.”

“Can’t I even wash dishes in the canteen? Something like that? I’m willing to do anything, man.”

“Any other lower-level positions are currently filled beyond capacity. There’s just nothing available right now. I suggest you keep your nose to the grindstone and work towards getting promoted to second technician.”

“And what exactly do I need to do to get myself promoted?” Lister had a hollow feeling that he already knew the answer to that question. He looked down at his boot sullenly and picked at some grit that was lodged in the treads.

“Well now, that’s at the discretion of your manager. If you do your job well, I’m sure you’ve a chance of being promoted…” The secretary gave Lister a particularly stern-looking once-over. “At some point.” He finished lamely.

“Fat chance of that, with the manager I’ve got.”

“I’m sorry but there’s just nothing else we can do right now. Perhaps some vacancies will open up when we reach Triton in a few months? Sometimes people disappear during planet leave. Do you want me to put you on a list in case anything opens up?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll probably have thrown myself out of an airlock in despair before that happens.”

The secretary looked at Lister with some concern. “Are you seriously contemplating  suicide?”

Lister sighed and slumped down into the unforgiving surface of the plastic office chair. “No, just being melodramatic is all.”

“Well thank goodness for that. Listen, why don’t you take a look at our course offerings?”

“What, you mean like classes?”

“Exactly, they won’t get you into a different position immediately, but it’s at least something to work towards.” He held out a thick booklet to Lister that was printed on standard grey JMC paper stock and labeled ‘Space Corps Course Catalogue’. “Maybe you might find something in there that would interest you.” Lister muttered his thanks as he took it and left the secretary’s office.

Lister grumbled under his breath as he left the Personnel Resources office; he was in just the mood to drown his sorrows in a big plate of chips and a milkshake. He rolled the course catalog up and stuffed it into his back pocket as he trudged his way to the canteen.

 

* * *

 

“Zero Gravity Painting? Seriously?” Lister mumbled as he thumbed to another page of the course book. He stuffed another chip in his mouth and sucked the salt from his fingers noisily. “Zero Gravity Plumbing?” Lister shuddered, as he imagined things that never ought to be floating doing just that. “Ugh.” He quickly flipped to a different page as he slurped loudly through his straw.

“It’s Dave, right?” Lister paused, his cheeks still filled with milkshake as he looked at the person who had sidled up next to him. He swallowed and smiled as he recognized that it was the girl who had bought him his pack of cigarettes.

“Hi, Kristine right?” Lister wiped his mouth with the back of his hand self-consciously. Kochanski was wearing a crisp uniform with officer’s pips, her hair pulled back into a neat pony tail. Lister suddenly felt sloppy in comparison.

“That’s right. Good to know I made an impression.” Her face lit up with that spectacular smile, and Lister’s self-consciousness melted away.

“A starving man never forgets the person who offered to buy him a hamburger.”

“So, how have your first few months on the ship been? You fitting in all right? I haven’t seen you around until now.”

“I’ve been keeping to myself mostly, to be honest. And I work Z-Shift. It’s pretty weird hours.”

“Z-Shift? So you’re a technician then?”

“Yeah, you’ve got the dubious honor of talking to the lowest-ranking member of the entire crew. Are you impressed yet?” Lister smirked as he popped another chip into his mouth.

“Not yet, but the day is still young,” Kochanski winked at Lister as she snaked out a hand, took one of his chips and ate it. The intimacy of the gesture was not lost on Lister who cocked an eyebrow thoughtfully.

“I see you’re an officer?”

“That’s right,” Kochanski said as she chewed. “First Console Officer. Impressed yet?”

“Well that all depends,” Lister said as he rested his head against his arms. “What does a First Console Officer do anyway? I mean, I doubt it could be more impressive than being a third technician. I’ve got to polish dispensers you know, AND use a sonic super mop. It’s pretty dashing stuff.”

“Oh, you’re quite right,” Kochanski continued as she rested her elbows on the table. “I couldn't possibly compete with a sonic super mop. That’s real space adventurer stuff there.” She and Lister both laughed as she helped herself to another one of his chips. “So, are you thinking of taking a class?”

“Yeah, I am actually. The sonic super mop is hard to top and all, but I’m a real overachiever type, you know?”

“Anything in particular tickle your fancy in there, Mr Overachiever?”

“Well…” Lister paused as he sucked at his straw. “I was thinking maybe about this one here: Advanced Obstetrics. I think I might be overqualified though. Wouldn’t want to take a step back on my illustrious career path.”

“I admire your restraint,” Kochanski replied as she nodded solemnly.

“So what about you then?” Lister asked. “What’s it like being a First Console Officer? Is that as important as it sounds?”

“It is.” She nodded as she leaned back in her chair. “I practically fly this thing all by myself, you know. Everyone else in the drive room is just in there to bring me coffees and adjust the seat for me.”

“What about the Captain?”

“He makes a terrible cup of coffee,” Kochanski quipped, her smile practically beaming off her face. “Speaking of which, I’d better go. My shift starts soon and they’re likely to crash into an asteroid without me there to save the day.” She stole one last chip from Lister’s plate. “Before I go though, me and my girlfriends are going out tonight. You should come along, get out a bit and have some fun for a change. They can’t keep you enslaved on Z-Shift forever.” She flashed that smile again and Lister felt warm all over.

“Maybe you’re right. It has been a while since I had a night out, and I owe you a drink for that pack of cigarettes.”

“Terrific, we’ll meet you at the Copacabana Club then, say nine? Nine-thirty?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Good. See you then, Dave.” She waved and then spun on her heels as she left the canteen.

Lister smiled as he watched her go through the doorway, her ponytail swishing. The promise of a night out and a chance to make some new friends had cheered him up exponentially. The fact that Kochanski had a smile that made him feel like he’d just won the jackpot on roulette certainly didn't hurt. He flipped the course book open to the section on engineering, and finished up his chips while he read through the description for Introduction to Mechanical Engineering.

Lister had always enjoyed working with machines. His step-dad had owned an auto body shop, and Lister had many fond memories associated with automotive tools, engine grease, and WD-40. Throughout his childhood, Lister had never particularly excelled at school. Decelled, would have been a better way to put it. It wasn’t that Lister wasn’t bright, he just never seemed to be able to master the art of applying himself to something that he wasn’t interested in. His brief stint in art college was a perfect example. Lister was the sort of bloke who wanted to do things on his own terms, or not at all.

As he skimmed over the course synopsis, he started to get a familiar antsy feeling all over. “Structural analysis, mechanism design, thermal systems… smeg,” he muttered under his breath. “If I do this,” he thought, “I can’t half arse it. I’m really going to have to apply myself. Am I really ready for that?”

Lister sat back on his chair and chewed thoughtfully on his last chip as he mulled things over. He was twenty-five now. “A quarter of a century,” he thought with some alarm. And what did he have to show for it? He had always prided himself on his “devil may care” attitude, but for the first time in his life, he found himself feeling some shame for it. It was that attitude that had left him stranded on a faraway moon, and forced him into prostitution just so that he could get himself back home. His mind flipped through the faces of all the Johns and Janes he’d let use and sometimes abuse him, like they were a slideshow of holiday pictures from a Christmas where nothing went right. He squirmed as he remembered the recruitment officer Zadnik, and what he’d done to get himself on board Red Dwarf. Did he go through all of that, just so that he could spend years on a slow crawl back to Earth, and then go right back to being the same loser he’d always been? Lister cringed as that word resonated in his head like a gong. Loser. “But that’s what you are, isn’t it?” His brain reprimanded him angrily. “That’s what you’ve always been. Are you going to keep on being a loser?”

“No,” Lister muttered out loud as he sucked the last of his milkshake through his straw with a rumbly slurp. He fumbled around in his pocket for a pen, pulled the lint and candy wrappers off of it, and began to fill out the registration form.

 

* * *

 

Several hours later, Lister was feeling happier than he’d felt in ages. Once he dropped his registration form off at the Personnel Resources office, the spring that his step acquired had endured throughout the rest of the day. He’d even managed to retain it while he’d dressed himself in his nicest pair of trousers and his favorite London Jets t-shirt, all the while ignoring Rimmer’s best attempts to insult him. “Ahh I see you’re wearing your best, Lister. Black tie affair tonight, is it?” Lister had only turned to him, and flashed him the most effervescent smile he could manage. Rimmer’s smarmy smirk had practically curdled and dribbled off of his face as Lister grabbed his jacket and left the room, heading for the Copacabana Club.

Kochanski and her friends were already there, camped on one of the round tables, sipping from coconuts bedecked with curly straws and umbrellas. She had her hair down, and was more made-up than he’d ever seen her. Lister thought she looked fantastic. She waved at him and gestured for him to sit next to her, and quickly introduced the other girls: her roommate Barbara who fixed him with a measured stare, and her friends Maxine and Regina. “This is Dave, he’s the new boy!”

“Welcome aboard, Dave the new boy!” said Regina, tossing her blond curls as she laughed.

“You new to the Corps, Dave? Or just new to the ship?” asked Maxine as she sipped at her coconut drink.

“New to the Corps, actually. What’s that you’re all drinking?”

“Callisto coladas,” interjected Kochanski. “Here, you can share mine.” Lister sipped at the fruity concoction made with coconut, lime, and a reasonable brand of Callistan rum. It wasn’t half bad. As he and Kochanski passed the coconut back and forth between them, the girls peppered him with questions. Lister did his best to answer, but felt a bit cagey when Barbara asked what he was doing on Mimas before he signed on to Red Dwarf. He mentioned that he had driven hoppers and left it at that. After almost an hour of questions and two additional rounds of Callisto coladas, he managed to deflect the line of questioning away from him by asking Regina what she did on the ship, and she happily began to chatter away about her job in catering and her quest to create the ultimate dessert.  

“It’s half pie, and half cake! I call it a pake!” Regina shouted jubilantly as she slurped up the last of her fourth or fifth colada.

“The next round’s on me!” Kochanski yelled as she grabbed Lister by the elbow, “Come on, Dave. You can help me carry them back.” Lister followed her to the tiki-themed bar as she placed her order. “I’m so glad you turned up,” she flashed him that smile and Lister felt like he was bathing in sunshine.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Lister replied. “Your friends seem nice.”

“They are,” Kochanski said as she leaned against the bar. “Barbara can be a bit of a stick in the mud until she gets a few drinks in her. After this round, she should be sufficiently loosened up.”

Lister laughed. “She couldn’t hold a candle to my bunkmate. He’s not so much a stick in the mud, more like a stick up the arse.”

“Who’s your bunkmate, then?” Kochanski asked as she chuckled.

“I don’t know if you’d have heard of him, he’s just a technician like me. Name’s Rimmer.”

Kochanski’s mouth instantly dropped into a sympathetic “o” of despair. “Oh my gosh, you’re rooming with Rimmer?”

“He’s more infamous than I thought.” Lister chuckled as she gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “He’s me manager too. I spend almost all day every day with the guy.”

“You poor thing. You really did need a night out.” Kochanski moved her hand from his shoulder to his cheek where she began to stroke it lightly. Her fingers were soft as they dragged across his skin. After so many months deprived of human contact, even that simple touch felt fantastic. Lister found himself leaning into her, like a magnet finding iron.

“Didn’t you say you have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, but he’s not here now is he?” Kochanski asked as she traced the divot in his chin with her index finger.

“Have you guys got an open relationship or something?”

“Let’s just say that, we have an understanding.” Kochanski stood up on tiptoe, wrapped her hands around Lister’s neck and kissed him. Her lips tasted of coconuts and lime. Lister grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close to him. She was so petite, he had to hunch over as he kissed her. She pulled away and looked up at him, her grey eyes winking in the lights from the dance floor. “Do you want to come back to my place?”

“What about the drinks?”

“Barb!” Kochanski yelled over to the table, and her roommate flashed her a thumbs-up. “Barbara’ll take care of them. C’mon.” She grabbed Lister by the hand and led him through the crowd to the corridor.

“Kristine…” Lister called after her as she pulled him to the lifts. “Krissie? Wait!”

“What? You haven’t got a steady already, have you?” she asked as she stabbed at the lift button impatiently.

“No, it’s not that…”

“Good,” she said before launching herself at him again, kissing him hard. Lister groaned as his body began to respond to the attentions.

“Smeg,” he thought. “It’s been way too long.”

“Please,” he said as he reluctantly pushed her away. “Just there’s something I ought to tell you before we… do anything.”

“What’s that? Sex not your thing? Have I been misinterpreting? I was sure you’d be game.”

“Oh believe me, I’m game,” Lister muttered as he shifted around his trousers. “It’s just… there’s something you should know about me.” The lift arrived with a ding, and he pulled her inside. Luckily it was empty. “You see before I came on board this ship, before I joined the Space Corps... I wasn’t just a hopper driver on Mimas.”

“Ok, well what were you then? Were you a Bliss peddler?” Kochanski joked. “You don’t look like the type.”

“No,” Lister said grimly. “I didn’t sell drugs. I was a prostitute.”

Kochanski’s eyebrows jumped to the top of her forehead. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Lister replied, his voice solemn. “Really. You see I got stranded there. I didn’t have any money, didn’t have any papers, nothing. It was the only way I was able to make any money to try and get out. I was trying to get back home you see, back to Earth. I’m not proud of it, but… I figured you should probably know about it.”

“OK,” Kochanski said as Lister braced himself for rejection. “Well now you’ve told me about it, can we still go back to mine?”

“What? You’re not put off?”

“Why should I be put off?”

“Dunno,” Lister said as he thought about it.

“I mean obviously you’ve been through the entrance examinations and health scans, so it’s not like I’m going to catch anything from you.”

“I suppose not,” Lister responded.

“And quite frankly, Dave, what you’ve done in your past is none of my business. If anything, it just means you’ll probably be damned good in the sack. So as long as your past hasn’t put you off of sex, and you’re attracted to me, I see no reason why we can’t have a good time together tonight.” She reached her arms around him again, dragging them down his back until they reached his backside and gave it a hearty squeeze. “Besides, you’re incredibly cute, Dave Lister. Did you know that?”

“Well,” Lister said modestly. “I have heard that a few times.” The door of the lift dinged open and Kochanski wasted no time and pushed him backwards towards her quarters, kissing him the entire way.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Arnold Rimmer’s face turned a particularly unhealthy shade of purple, as he looked down at the plain paper envelope clutched in his hands. His eyes traced angrily over the return address like an army of red ants as he read the name over and over again: Mrs Reginald C. Rimmer. He growled under his breath in rage, “Why the smeg can’t they just leave me alone?!” If the skutter who delivered the message hadn’t scarpered the second the letter had left its clumsy rubber fingers, Rimmer would have been tempted to kick the little bastard.

He refused to open the envelope this time. He didn’t want to give his mother the satisfaction. He could easily guess what dear old mummy would have to say to him. If the letter wasn’t sent to let him know that one of his older, taller, and more handsome brothers had received another promotion, than it was going to be another epic complaining about what a disgrace to the family he was. He had no desire to read either. He crumpled it into a ball as he stormed off and headed for the interplanetary phones. 

The phone for Mimas was already occupied. Of course it was. Rimmer grumbled as he stood behind the rather beefy gentleman who had the phone clutched to his ear and was muttering into it in Spanish. After five minutes Rimmer began to fidget. After ten, he began to tap his foot impatiently and make passive-aggressive comments loudly enough that the man could hear him. After fifteen minutes, he shouted. “FOR GOD’S SMEGGING SAKE THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE ON THIS SHIP WHO NEED TO USE THE DAMNED PHONE.”

The man turned around, and for a tense moment, Rimmer thought he was about to get punched, and he was. However the look on Rimmer’s face made the man think otherwise. He uncurled his ready fist, mumbled a quick “Ciao” into the telephone and then walked past Rimmer, giving him a wide berth. Rimmer stepped into the alcove and got a look at his reflection in the metal of the phone console as he grabbed the black plastic handset. His hair was unkempt and sticking up from his head, he had bags under his eyes, and his mouth was creased in a murderous frown. He looked completely and utterly mad. Rimmer sighed and tossed his mother’s crumpled letter to the floor as he dug into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Tucked into one of the flaps was a dog-eared business card for Honesto Armando. He slid it out and began to dial the number. Rimmer flipped the card in his fingers as he listened to the chirps and crackles that meant the phone was connecting to the Saturnian moon.

“Hola! You’ve reached Honesto Armando’s! This is Conchita, how can I be of service?”

Rimmer grimaced at the theatrically exaggerated accent before he spoke. “Hello Conchita. This is Arnold Rimmer calling.”

“Oh hey, Arnie! How you doin’ sweetie?” Conchita's accent melted away into her natural southern drawl as quickly as a popsicle on a hot sidewalk. 

“Not very well actually,” Rimmer said through gritted teeth. “I got another letter from THEM today.”

“They still not letting up? Sorry about that, sweetie. I’ll put you through to Armando in just a minute, ok? He’s on a call right now.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble at all, sugar. Oh! By the way, did that little guy ever find you?”

“What are you talking about? What 'little guy’?”

“It was the last time you were here. This little guy came in looking for you, not long after you left. Poor kid, someone really put him through the wringer; black eye, busted tooth, lip split wide open. He was a real mess.”

Rimmer’s mouth suddenly went as dry as cotton. He licked at his lips and could hear the scrape of his tongue against his skin. “What… what did he want?”

“Beats me, he didn't stick around long. He just asked for you and then ducked out when I told him you’d already left. I could hear him calling for you out on the street.”

Rimmer could feel the floor starting to fall away underneath him. He gripped onto the phone console as his arms started to tremble. 

“Arnie? You still there sweetie?”

“Yes,” Rimmer managed to blurt out as he tried to keep his voice even. “Yes I’m here.”

“So did the little guy ever find you?”

The dryness in his mouth was suddenly replaced by the sick taste of despair. He shuddered as he squeezed the phone in a death grip. “Yes,” he mumbled into the phone. “He did.”

“Oh good. Poor kid looked like he needed a friend.”

Rimmer’s head grew woozy, and he felt his knees start to give out. “I’ve got to go, Conchita.”

“Oh? Do you still want me to…”

“Goodbye,” Rimmer put the receiver down weakly as the full weight of what he’d just learned crashed into him like an ACME anvil. He sank to the floor and slowly bit down on his fist. Lister had been telling the truth, all along.

“No,” he thought as his teeth dug impressions into his skin. “No, no, no, no…” He pulled his fist from his mouth and grabbed onto handfuls of his already wild hair. “What have I done?” he thought as he moaned, a long, drawn-out, mournful moan. “What have I done?” 

Lister had been telling the truth, and he, Arnold J Rimmer, was a first-class smegheaded git. 

Rimmer pulled his legs to his chest and rested his forehead against his knees. He wished that the floor of the ship would swallow him up, then he idly thought about shooting himself out of an airlock. He dismissed that thought almost as soon as he had it. He knew he was too much of a coward to ever really kill himself. Instead he just sat; slumped underneath the phone like a pile of depressed jelly. 

The past few months replayed through his head at top speed, starting with the previous afternoon when he’d attempted to force Lister to repolish the entire corridor of dispensers, all the way back to when Lister had suddenly appeared in the bunkroom and Rimmer had pretended he hadn’t known him. He covered his hands with his face and groaned. “This can’t be happening,” he mumbled into his fingers. “It just can’t.” There was a sudden urgent tap against his boot and he looked up to see a pair of skutters brandishing a hand broom and dust pan.

“What do you want?” Rimmer shouted at the service droids, spittle flying from his mouth. The skutter with the broom tapped at his boot again and Rimmer pulled it away in irritation. “Can’t a man sulk in peace around here?” The skutter with the dust pan gestured pointedly at the crumpled letter from his mother on the floor beside him, and Rimmer stood up with a dramatic groan. “Fine, fine. I’ll get out of your way.” He brushed off his trousers as he walked away, leaving the skutters to their duties.

He walked through the corridors of Red Dwarf aimlessly, his fingers clenching and unclenching in distress at his sides. He couldn’t stop thinking about Lister, and the miseries he’d been subjecting him to ever since he came aboard. He cringed at the memory of his pettiness as he backtracked through every incident, every barked order, every insult. “You called him a whore.” Rimmer could practically see his conscience clucking its tongue at him in shame. 

“So what?” he thought angrily as his inner guilt tried to excuse what he did. “He called me a loser!” 

Rimmer’s conscience gave a beleaguered shake of its head, “He only did that because you were being an absolute bastard to him, and you know that.” Rimmer’s guilt gave a contrite twitch as his conscience continued to berate him. “And he was right, you know? You are a loser. You always have been, and you always will be.”

He thought about the afternoon he and Lister had spent together on Mimas and sighed in regret. He remembered how Lister’s face had looked—illuminated by the lights of the hopper, his cigarette trailing from his ear—and his heart gave a mighty clench. “He was so good to you, so sweet, and look what you did,” his conscience muttered in disgust. “You blew it, Arnie J. You absolutely blew it.” 

Rimmer stopped dead in the middle of the corridor, clapped his hands over his face and let out a loud, drawn-out groan. Crewmembers weaved around him in alarm as the groan eventually petered out. “Get a grip on yourself,” he mumbled into his hands. “Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip.” His hands fell away from his face and at the far end of the corridor, he saw the illuminated coat-of-arms of the Happy Astro pub. “A drink,” he thought idly. “That’s what you need. You’ve just got to calm down, Arnie. You’ve got to think, and you can’t think properly in this state.” Rimmer straightened out his tie and futilely attempted to smooth down his hair as he walked down the corridor and through the pub’s doorway.

At first glance, the Happy Astro appeared to be your standard traditional British pub. On second glance, you realized that the wooden beams and oak benches were actually fabricated from garish plastic and it was about as authentic as the animatronic safari park at Disneyland. Its unconvincing decor aside, it was one of the quieter pubs on Red Dwarf and Rimmer’s usual haunt. 

He sat heavily on the vinyl seat of one of the stools at the bar and the air whooshed out of the cushion like a silent fart. The bartender was an enigmatic chap with long stringy blond hair, by the name of Ozzy. Rimmer had spent many an evening puzzling over the man’s accent, trying to place where he might be from. “What’ll it be, Rimmer? White wine and Perrier?”

“Not tonight. I think I need something a little stronger.” The plastic seat squeaked rhythmically as Rimmer’s leg jittered up and down. “Give me a whiskey, neat. No, make it a double.”

Ozzy raised a bushy eyebrow in Rimmer’s direction. “You sure, mate?”

“Never been surer,” Rimmer muttered as he sighed heavily. 

Ozzy shook his head as he pulled a bottle of JMC brand whiskey down from the counter, sloshed two measures of it into a glass, and slid it over to Rimmer. 

“Bottoms up,” Rimmer mumbled as he exhaled heavily and grasped the glass tightly. Without another word he tipped it back, downing it in two heavy slugs. Rimmer grimaced as he pummeled the bartop with his fist. 

“Christ, Rimmer!” Ozzy cried out in alarm. “What are you trying to do? Kill yourself?”

“P’fah,” Rimmer was already slurring slightly as he waved his hand at Ozzy. “M’fine. Give me another double. And none of that JMC rubbish this time. Give me the good stuff.” Ozzy rolled his eyes to the polished plastic oak ceiling before pulling out a bottle of ten year old Macallan. 

“Ah yes,” Rimmer murmured as he peered at the label blearily. “Named after the actress Rue Macallahan of course.” Ozzy ignored Rimmer’s factoid as he refilled his glass with two measures. 

“Down the thatch,” Rimmer raised his glass in a cheers at Ozzy before knocking it back and letting the scotch sear its way down his throat like lava. 

“Holy smeg, Rimmer. Are you sure you can handle so much?”

Rimmer wasn’t sure. In fact, Ozzy’s face looking across the bar in concern was the last thing that he remembered before he blacked out. The next thing he knew, he was waking up from a rather vivid dream where security officer Ackerman was wearing a toupee made of noodles and glaring at him furiously. Rimmer wrenched his gummy eyes open and saw an unfamiliar fluorescent light staring him in the face. Both his stomach and his head were protesting like an angry mob of crypto-fascist radicals. 

“Oh god…” Rimmer groaned as he clutched at both his stomach and his head, unsure which was more deserving of attention. He rolled himself up to a sitting position, and winced at the fresh throbs of pain that raced through his cranium as he looked around blearily. He was on a nondescript cot and the room had no windows and a single door. “Oh smeeeeeeg,” Rimmer muttered as he realized he was in one of Red Dwarf’s detention cells. In all the years he’d lived and worked on the colossal mining ship, Rimmer had never done anything to warrant being locked in one of the tiny cells. “What the smeg happened?” he thought as he clutched at his head. He wracked his brain, but the previous evening was all a smudgy grey blur. He could remember the telephone call with Conchita, and deciding to go into the Happy Astro for a drink, but after that there was nothing. A rattling sound at the door made him suddenly look up. A tall security officer stepped through the doorway with a clipboard tucked under her arm.

“Well, feeling better this morning, Mr Rimmer?”

“What happened? Why am I here?”

“You mean you don’t remember anything from last night?” She looked at him sternly as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“The last thing that I remember is ordering that second double-whiskey.” Rimmer groaned as he rubbed his forehead in his hands.

“So you don’t remember accosting Mr Ackerman in his office yesterday evening?”

“Accosting Ackerman?” Rimmer screwed up his face as he thought, but his brain would only conjure up the image of Ackerman wearing the noodle toupee. 

The officer shook her head gravely as she began to flip through the pages of her report and read from them. “At approximately eighteen hundred hours, first technician Arnold J Rimmer (AJR) is reported to have arrived at the office of head of security William H Ackerman (WHA). It must also be noted that technician AJR showed all the signs of extreme intoxication.”

“Oh buggering, bloody hell.” Rimmer hung his head in shame as the security officer continued.

“After shouting some indecipherable verbal abuse at WAH, technician AJR then attempted to engage WAH in physical combat which WAH easily avoided due to AJR’s apparent intoxication. WAH then called for additional security, at which point AJR retreated to the corridor where he obtained a number of cups of chicken soup from a nearby dispenser. AJR then returned and lobbed said cups of chicken soup at WAH.” She raised an eyebrow as Rimmer sank down further in his chair. “Would you like me to continue, Mr Rimmer?”

“No,” Rimmer responded softly. “I think I get the point.” 

“You were given a mild sedative and brought back here to sleep it off. Do you have anything to say for yourself, Mr Rimmer?” She crossed her arms over her chest again and stared down at him like he was a petulant schoolboy. 

“I’m sorry.” Rimmer hissed as he spoke through gritted teeth. “I’ve not been myself lately.”

“Well you’re going to be let off with a warning this time.” She scribbled on a small slip of paper and handed it over to Rimmer. “But do yourself a favor and stay away from the bars for a while, OK?”

“You mean I’m not getting demoted?” Rimmer looked up at her in surprise as he glanced down at the red-marked piece of paper. 

“Luckily for you, Mr Ackerman wasn’t interested in pressing any charges. I think he realized you weren’t quite in your right mind.”

“I see.”

“I’m going to recommend you look at this as an opportunity, Mr Rimmer.” She stared at him solemnly as he rose from the cot with a wince, one hand still firmly pressed to his head. “We all make mistakes sometimes, but it’s never too late to learn from them. I think you probably owe someone an apology, and then you can put this whole nasty business behind you.”

“An apology, yes,” Rimmer said aloud as the officer clapped him on the shoulder. “Yes, I should apologize. I’ll get on that right away.”

“That’s the spirit. Now off you pop.”

Rimmer’s first stop after leaving the detention cell was the nearest vending machine where he ordered the largest black coffee that he could, and a double-pack of extra strength paracetamol. He swallowed the pills down with his coffee, shuddering at the taste as he hopped onto one of the many rovers that made hourly trips to and from the enormous mall that was tucked deep in the ship’s bowels. After a lengthy trip, Rimmer’s headache was finally beginning to abate just as the rover pulled up to the mall entrance. 

Normally, Rimmer avoided the mall like the plague. He hated the crowds, the loud adverts blaring from the overhead televisions, the people who manned the stalls and accosted him to buy cheaply made trinkets every time he walked past. But today, Rimmer was willing to brave the unpleasantness, because he was on a mission. He wormed his way through the throngs, flinching at each shopping bag that brushed against his legs as he made his way to the directory. He squinted for a full five minutes at the illuminated display, fighting against his rising anxiety before he finally located the shop he was looking for. He made a few mental notes of where the shop was compared to the cheerful sunburst marked: “You are here!” before setting off up one of the many escalators. 

Nearly half an hour later, after being sidelined by someone selling fluffy electronic cats, and another urging him to sign a petition for rights for the non-living, Rimmer finally reached the cheerfully decorated entryway of Betelgeuse’s Blossoms. He breathed a sigh of relief as he passed under the vine-covered trellis and saw that the shop was mostly deserted. The place was crammed from end to end with dozens of arrangements: from congratulatory bouquets of bright carnations, to fat bunches of yellow tulips. Rimmer fought against the urge to sneeze as the scent of thousands of different blooms assaulted his impressive nostrils. He glanced around, hoping a particular flower would jump out at him and scream, “Buy me! Lister would like these!” but it was like looking at a crowd of circus clowns and trying to choose one to entertain at a birthday party; in the end, a clown was a clown. 

Rimmer walked over to a display of small bouquets held together with dainty ribbons, and tried to imagine himself passing one of them over to Lister. Rimmer cringed as he thought to himself, “Maybe this was a bad idea?”

“Good morning, sir!” Rimmer turned to see a pleasant, motherly-looking sort with a full head of frizzy brown curls topped off with a wreath of daisies. She smiled widely as she walked up to him and adjusted some sprigs of baby’s breath on one of the tiny bouquets. “What’s the occasion today?”

“Pardon?” Rimmer’s brow furrowed as his still-hungover brain tried and failed to parse her question.

“Is it a wedding? Someone’s birthday perhaps?” She clasped her hands in front of her as she beamed up at him. “These little nosegays are just perfect for weddings.” 

“Oh! No, there's no particular occasion. I’m er… just looking to get some flowers for… someone.” He finished lamely.

“Well that’s no trouble at all, we have plenty of flowers available for every occasion. Even if you’re just looking to put a smile on someone’s face. Why don’t you come on over here, dear. My name is Sylvia by the way.” Rimmer declined to return the introduction and instead watched her long patchwork skirt swing from side-to-side as he followed behind her. “Did you know we grow all of our own flowers here on the ship?”

“Is that right?” Rimmer asked politely, although he really couldn’t have cared less if she had told him that they grew them out of Captain Hollister’s rather ample arse. 

“It’s true! We have some lovely greenhouses, and a dedicated space in the botanical garden. The flowers just thrive in the artificial sunlight.”

“Mmmm…” Rimmer mumbled non-committedly as she gestured towards a bunch of white, pink and magenta flowers.

“Now how about some of our cosmos flowers? They’re one of our specialties.” Rimmer screwed his face up as he gazed down at the blossoms. 

“I’m not sure. Do you have anything maybe a bit less… casual looking?” Rimmer shook his head as he thought, “What am I even talking about? What, do I think there will be some flowers at the back wearing ties and three-piece suits?”

“Well who are these going to be for? That might help us figure out what kind of flower would be best. We’ve got lots of varieties to choose from.”

“Actually they’re for my bunkmate.”

“Oh! Are the two of you friends then?”

“Not exactly, no. It’s more of a erm…” Rimmer shifted uncomfortably as he avoided the shopkeeper’s gaze. “Well… you see I have these… feelings for him… but…”

“Ah, so it’s romance we’re going for then?” Sylvia gave Rimmer a suggestive grin as she moved further into the store and gestured for him to follow. 

“Erm… well… it’s… complicated.” Rimmer left it at that as she pulled him over to a large display of red roses.

“Well if it’s romance you’re after, you can’t go wrong with roses.”

Rimmer bent over and sniffed at a few of the blooms. They smelled strongly of perfume and the scent reminded him a bit of his mother. “You’re sure that red roses are the thing to get?”

“Oh absolutely, dear. The red rose is a timeless symbol of love and romance, sure to make anyone’s heart melt.” She plucked a single rose from a bunch and inhaled deeply, pressing her nose into the petals. “They were associated with Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love. Ever since then they’ve been considered the ultimate expression of passionate love and affection.” As the shopkeeper spoke she got a faraway look in her eyes. “Now how could your bunkmate not be swept head over heels by the goddess of love herself? Especially if they’re delivered by a handsome fellow like you.” Rimmer squirmed uncomfortably as she reached out and caressed the side of his face with the rose. 

“Fine,” he mumbled as he pushed the rose away from his face. “That’ll be fine thanks. I’ll take a dozen.”

“Wonderful! A dozen red roses it is.”

“No, make it two dozen. Or should I get three?”

“Three dozen roses?” she asked incredulously.

“No. Right. Let’s stick with two dozen. Don’t want to seem too desperate.” Rimmer mumbled as he reached for his wallet.

 

* * *

 

Laden down with two armfuls of twenty four premium red roses, it took Rimmer almost two hours to make the trip back from the mall to his bunkroom, including the detour he made to the men's room where he attempted and failed to comb his wild mane of curls into something a bit more tame. He hesitated when he reached the metal doorway, unsure of how he should proceed. He didn’t even know if Lister was going to be in or not. He’d been spending a lot of time out of the bunkroom lately. Quite frankly, Rimmer couldn’t blame him, considering how horrible his behavior had been. He sighed heavily and ordered the door to unlock.

The door slid open to reveal Lister standing in front of the combination vid-screen/mirror, his hands fumbling under his shirt as he applied his spray-on deodorant. A frown left a single crease on his forehead before he turned his back to Rimmer. “So, decided to finally pursue your lifelong dream of winning the Chelsea Flower Show, eh? You’ve certainly got a better chance of that than you do becoming an officer.” Rimmer grimaced at the snipe, but he knew he deserved it. He cleared his throat and locked the door behind him. 

He wasn’t sure what he should do next. He had the flowers, but how was he supposed to present them? Should he get down on one knee? Make some grand gesture? Or should he say something first? Why did he have to be so rubbish at this sort of thing?

Rimmer’s tongue rasped over his dry lips, “Lister, I… Dave… I just wanted…”

“Dave? Since when do you think we’re on first name terms, Rimmer?” Lister turned towards his bunkmate with a scowl. 

“Just get it over with,” Rimmer thought. “Just like yanking of a bandage. Fast and painless.” He took a deep breath, and ploughed straight ahead. “I wanted to apologize for everything that I’ve done. How I’ve been treating you since you came onboard here. I’m sorry.”

Rimmer wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but what he definitely wasn’t expecting was to see the scowl on Lister's forehead grow deeper. “You’re sorry?” he snapped angrily. 

“Truly sorry,” Rimmer muttered as he looked down at his boots. Not sure what else to do, he held one of the bouquets out stiffly towards Lister. “I got these for you.”

Lister shook his head in disgust. “I can’t believe you, you know that? I can’t smegging believe you, Rimmer. You treat me like complete and utter smeg and make me life a living hell for months and you think you can just wipe the slate clean with an apology and a couple of bunches of smegging flowers?”

Rimmer was dumbfounded. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. He was trying to make things better. Why wasn’t it working? 

“I… I thought you’d be pleased. I don’t need to treat you like that anymore.”

“You don’t NEED to treat me like that anymore?” Lister’s eyes grew dark as they flashed with fury. “Newsflash, Rimmer. You never NEEDED to treat me like crap. You were the one who decided to act the part of someone trying to get first place in a world’s biggest knob competition. And why the sudden about-face? Was this all your idea of some sort of a joke? Or is this what you consider foreplay? Treat the guy like smeg to beat him down and then play nice so he’ll come crawling back to you? Well this might come as a shock to you, Rimmer, because sometimes I think you’re thicker than a gang of remedial chavs, but I’m not one for crawling.”

“No, it was nothing like that, I swear.” Rimmer gestured helplessly with the flowers. “I spoke to my barrister’s secretary and she told me all about how you’d come looking for me. How you’d really been mugged. I didn't realize you were telling the truth. How could I have?”

“Oh gee, Rimmer. That’s a hard one. I dunno, you could have maybe trusted my word over smegging Ackerman's maybe. That would have been a start.”

Rimmer’s heart dropped into his chest. “You know about Ackerman?”

“What smegging difference does it make? It was my word against his, and you decided to trust him instead of me. And because of that, you’ve done everything in your damned power to make me miserable. And you want me to just forgive you like that? Just because you come crawling back here with those ridiculous bouquets and a pathetic apology? I don’t think so, Rimmer.” Lister turned back to the mirror and began fussing over his hair angrily. “I don’t smegging well think so.”

“But…” Rimmer’s arms began to droop, the bouquets sagging sadly to the floor. “Dave, I never meant to hurt you.”

“That’s a damn smegging lie and you know it!” Lister shouted as he whirled round furiously. “The whole point of everything you were doing was to hurt me! You were hurt because you thought I’d stood you up, and so you wanted to do everything you could to make me hurt just as much, if not more!”

“But I…” Rimmer stuttered as he struggled to keep his emotions under control. “I didn’t know… I thought.”

“Yeah, right. You thought a whole lot of things about me. Didn’t you, Rimmer? You let me know exactly how you felt about me that day. Or did you forget about that? That you called me a whore and asked me how many cocks I had to suck to get onboard?”

“No,” Rimmer murmured softly as he kept staring at his bootlaces, too ashamed to meet Lister’s eyes. “I hadn’t forgotten about that.”

“So do us both a favor, Rimmer. Keep your damned apologies to yourself. 'Cause I don’t want to hear them.” Lister shrugged into his black jacket and headed for the door. 

“Wait. Please, Dave. Please would you just listen…” Rimmer hurried past Lister, brushing him with the bouquets as he blocked the doorway. 

“No, I won’t ‘just listen’. I’ve listened to you plenty since I got onboard this ship and I’m done, Rimmer. I’m well and truly smegging done.”

“But… what am I supposed to do with these things?” Rimmer cried out in desperation as he held the flowers out to Lister. 

“You can shoot them out an airlock for all I care. Now get out of my way. I'm going to be late for my date.”

“Date?” Rimmer’s heart had already sunk, so instead it drowned and then floated, bloated and bobbing, to the surface.

“That’s right. I’m meeting Krissie Kochanski at the Copacabana Club tonight, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you spoil it. Goodnight, Rimmer.” Lister put heavy emphasis on the “rim” as he angrily stamped out the door, not even bothering to close and lock it behind him. 

Rimmer sank to the floor, a heap of rose petals and long limbs tangled together. “God smegging damn it,” he muttered as he picked up one of the bouquets and glared at it. “A fat lot of good you did, you aromatic little bastards.” He gripped the flowers by the stems and began to smash them into the floor. “A FAT LOT OF GOOD YOU DID!” He shouted again as he continued to pummel them into the floor, sending up a flurry of petals and leaves. “WHY CAN’T YOU EVER GET ANYTHING RIGHT? ARGH!” Rimmer grimaced as he realized that several thorns were digging their way into his fingers. He sucked at the wounds as he threw down the other bouquet, stood up and began to stamp on it. “WHY DO YOU ALWAYS RUIN EVERYTHING?!” Rimmer’s voice began to crack as he squashed the last red blossom flat under his boot heels. Without another word he flung himself onto his bunk, and buried his head under his pillow. If he was going to cry, he was at least going to do it with dignity, and keep anyone else from seeing. 

Several minutes later, Rimmer’s despair was interrupted as the same two skutters rolled into the bunk room with their dust pan and broom and began to sweep up the rose petals. He pulled the pillow off of his head and glared at the droids. “Would you two get out of here? Can’t you see that I’m having a good old fashioned sulk? Smeg off!” Rimmer mashed his lips together in anger, his nostrils spreading like blooming flowers. 

The two skutters looked at one another quizzically and shook their plastic heads before going back to their duties. 

Rimmer sighed heavily, flopped back to the bed and pulled the pillow back over his head. “At least someone on this ship is capable of clearing up the mess I’ve made,” he mumbled into his sheets. 

The skutters shook their heads one last time, and then slowly finished cleaning up the roses. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter took so long! Switching to Rimmer's point-of-view after writing from Lister's for such a long time was a bit of a challenge. I hope it was worth the wait. :-)


	12. Chapter 12

Rimmer sighed and rubbed his eyes as he rested the dog-eared copy of “How to Make Things Right After a Royal Smeg-Up” on his chest. A full two months had gone by since he’d learned the truth about Lister, but very little had changed between the two of them. He’d read the self-help book through numerous times and although he hadn’t found it particularly useful in terms of helping him to patch things up with Lister, he still found skimming through it to be therapeutic. It made him feel like he was doing something, instead of just sitting by impotent and helpless. 

_ When you’ve wronged someone, be sure to give them their space. Too many attempts to make amends can be overwhelming to a person, and it’s best to give them some breathing room so they can process on their own time, and on their own terms.  _

So that’s what Rimmer was doing. Giving Lister some space. After the flowers had failed, he'd attempted a few other elaborate apologies, but they had only succeeded in making things worse. When Lister had come back from a shift to find his bunk filled with boxes of chocolates, he’d fumed and done what he’d promised he’d do with the flowers, and shot them out an airlock. Lister had gotten two weeks of paint duty for using an airlock without authorization, and Rimmer had been utterly crestfallen. When Rimmer had attempted to write Lister an apologetic letter, Lister had looked him square in the eye and eaten it; envelope and all. It had taken him nearly a full ten minutes to get the whole thing down.

Rimmer had since given up the outward attempts to get Lister to see reason. Instead he was trying to follow the advice of Dr Dierdre Walpole: certified relationships counselor, psychologist, psychic medium, and ordained minister. She recommended that he give Lister some space, so that’s what he was going to do. 

Not that he actually WANTED to be giving Lister his space. On the contrary, every day he had to fight the impulse to apologize more and lavish attention on his bunkmate. It was fortunate for Rimmer, that Lister had started spending most of his time away from the sleeping quarters. Even working together had been a rare occurrence because Rimmer did his level best to ensure they were not on shift together. When scheduling them together couldn’t be avoided, they worked in silence only speaking when it was absolutely necessary. Lister would cut Rimmer off forcefully if he even tried so much as to make small talk, or say anything other than: “Pass me that spanner,” or “Hand me another rag would you?”

When Lister did happen to come by, usually to grab some fresh pants or toss another pair of socks into his clothes hamper, Rimmer would bite his tongue and literally sit on his hands to stop himself from saying or doing anything. After Lister left, Rimmer would get a terrible hollow feeling in his chest as he knew that his bunkmate must be spending his time with Kristine Kochanski. 

Kristine Kochanski. Rimmer moaned, and slapped his hands over his face as he thought about it: her and Lister, nude and glistening while they rutted together like a couple of horny teenagers. The thought made him feel queasy. It was bad enough that Lister had gone and found someone else to get romantically entangled with, but he had to go and choose someone who was an officer as well. And not just any officer, Kristine smegging Kochanski. Rimmer hadn’t had very many interactions with the first console officer, but he just knew instinctively that Kochanski didn’t like him. It was the way she said his name, always adding unnecessary emphasis on the ‘Rim’. “Miserable cow,” Rimmer muttered into his hands as he sighed and sat up, Dr Deirdre Walpole’s book sliding to the floor with a flaccid slap.

He perched on the edge of his bunk and stared down at the book cover, wondering what he should do with himself. Since everything with Lister had blown up, his concentration had been even worse than usual. He’d withdrawn his name from taking the next astronavigation exam, so there was no revising to be done. It was his day off, so he couldn’t lose himself in the tediousness of Z-Shift. He’d already organized his underpants, making sure each one hung neatly and clearly labeled in his locker. Eventually Rimmer decided to go and do what he always did when he had nothing better to do. He walked over to his locker, pulled out his jacket, and slipped a lanyard with security cards off the hook on the door. He was headed out for a wild evening of boothing. 

Back when humans had first started to explore the vastness of the cosmos, ships had been equipped with enough stasis booths so that entire crews could remain sealed in stasis from the time they left Earth’s orbit, to the time they reached their destination across the solar system. Once this sort of interplanetary travel was deemed both pointless and too costly, almost all ships had decommissioned their stasis booths. Only a few older ships, Red Dwarf included, retained a small number of stasis booths; using them primarily for penal purposes. Red Dwarf had two stasis booths on board and by a funny twist of fate, Rimmer had access cards for both.

Although the stasis booths were usually left empty, there had been problems with people using them for illicit encounters. As head of Z-Shift, Rimmer had been given security clearance to access the booths, so that he could make sure the insides were regularly mopped and squeegeed. After a particularly memorable incident that took Rimmer a full shift to get cleaned up, a company-wide memo was released, stating that non-authorized use of the stasis booths was strictly forbidden. The illicit encounters came to an abrupt halt, but no one had ever requested that Rimmer give the access cards back. Shortly after that, he began to spend any bit of spare time he had, not existing. Over the years he’d racked up enough boothing time to save himself a full year of life, making him only thirty instead of thirty-one. He figured it was as good a way to spend his time as any other.

The booths were deserted as usual. The Captain's stern promise to punish anyone caught using the booths for carnal purposes with replacing all the ship's urinal cakes had seen to that. Rimmer slipped a card into the booth, and punched the keypad to set it for two hours worth of stasis. As he slipped inside, he let out a small sigh as his thoughts returned to Lister. Lister who was probably being pushed up against a bunkroom wall somewhere, and being enthusiastically ground into by Ms Kochanski. Rimmer grumbled as he prepared to hit the execute button. At least he wouldn’t be able to think about it for the next two hours. Two less hours of stressing about Lister and his newfound love with Kristine Kochanski, was much better than the alternative. 

Rimmer pressed the button, and instantaneously, it was all over. There was no sense of the passing of time, no sudden blip of awareness that anything had changed. Even Rimmer’s wristwatch hadn’t moved a millimeter as it was in the stasis field with him. He stepped out of the booth and checked the exterior digital clock. It was two hours later on the dot. He adjusted the time on his watch and then reached into his breast pocket to pull out a tiny notebook. He jotted down the date and time and updated the total: one year, two months, five days, and sixteen hours. If he kept up this pace, he could save himself as much as a decade if he stayed with the Space Corps until he reached retirement age. A little voice in the back of his head muttered, “A whole extra decade of life when you’ve got no sex life, no friends, and your job is literally in the toilet. What’s the point?” Rimmer frowned and quietly told the voice to smeg off. 

Rimmer nervously twirled the security cards on their lanyard as he arrived back at the doorway to his sleeping quarters. He always felt a rush of anxiety before he opened the door, wondering if he would catch a glimpse of his bunkmate or not. A part of him ached to see Lister every chance he got, while another part was paralyzed with dread at the prospect of facing him again. He held his breath as the door slid open and winced when he saw Lister glaring down at him from his bunk as he thumbed through a thick book. 

Rimmer stepped through the doorway and before he could stop himself, words began to tumble from his lips like spilled milk. “Lister, I… listen, I’m… I…” 

“Save it, Rimmer,” Lister said as he slammed the book shut angrily and hopped down from his bunk. “I thought you were out.”

“But, Dave please… I mean, Lister… just…”

“Look man, we’ve already been over this a hundred times. I’m not interested in hearing any more excuses or apologies. Yeah? I’m sick of it. Just leave me alone. Haven’t you done enough?” 

Rimmer let his hands fall limply to his sides and closed his mouth as Lister pushed past him and left the bunkroom with his book.  He sighed as he sat down on his thin mattress with a tired thump. Dr. Dierdre Walpole’s paperback stared up at him from the floor; its cartoonish font seemed to mock him. He reached down and picked it up, smoothing out the page that had creased while it laid on the floor. As his fingers slid across the page, he read a large italicized quote. 

_ When an apology isn’t enough, do what you can to make amends. Give them something they’ve always wanted. Take them on their dream vacation, or get them that pony they’ve wanted since they were a child. Don’t think of it as bribery, think of it as wish fulfillment. Let them know that they mean so much to you, you’re prepared to give them the moon and the stars.  _

Rimmer scoffed as he shut the book with a slap, “The moon and the stars? He’s already got more of those than any sane person would want.” He glanced out the viewport window, and saw a blue and green marbled sphere way off in the distance. Suddenly something clicked into place in Rimmer’s brain. His mouth dropped open like a fish who’d just learned it had won the lotto. 

“Dave doesn’t want the moon or the stars. What he wants is Earth.” The thought caroomed through Rimmer’s brain like a derailed subway. He stood up and began doing a mad sort of jig across the bunkroom floor. “Earth! That’s it! I’ve got to get him back to Earth! That’s what will make Lister happy! Why haven’t I thought of this before? It’s so incredibly simple! It’s perfect, it’s...” Rimmer looked down at his fist, where the keycards to the stasis booths still swung. “And I know just how to do it.”

Several years ago, when Rimmer had just begun his career on Red Dwarf, he’d had a bunkmate who’d been sentenced to spend the remainder of his time onboard the ship in stasis. The unfortunate fellow by the name of Marvin Granchio, had been a young sous chef in catering. Rimmer hadn’t much liked him, so he was rather happy when Granchio had been caught smuggling in crates of unquarantined crabs after a stop-off on the ocean moon of Europa. Granchio had spent many a night in the bunkroom, bemoaning his fate and poring over the Space Corps regulations, looking for some loop-hole in the clause. But it was no use. Granchio had been put into stasis until the next time Red Dwarf docked at his home planet, and he was discharged from the Space Corps. 

“Holly! Holly?” It took a few minutes for the bald head to appear in the bunk’s vidscreen where he gazed at Rimmer in annoyance. 

“What is it, Arnold?”

“What stop is next on the schedule for planet leave and how soon will we be there?”

“It’s Triton, Arnold. We’re scheduled to dock in three days time.”

“Excellent. Absolutely smegging perfect. Can you put me through to one of the cheapest hotels on Triton?”

“I’m the ship’s computer, Arnold. I’m not your own personal travel agent. Get on the phone for Triton and make your own arrangements.” Holly was shaking his bald head as he winked from the screen.

“Dome-headed goit,” Rimmer muttered at the blank screen as he left the sleeping quarters and headed for the phones.

 

* * *

 

Rimmer glanced about him nervously as he rapped at the plexiglass door. He looked down at the advertisement he’d torn out of the Triton Tribune. The paper was damp with sweat from his palm, but this definitely was the right address, 942 12th street. He stuffed the ad back in his pocket and rapped at the door again. Rimmer wrinkled his nose as he looked up at the large bubble that covered the small colony of skyscrapers, research centers, and tenement houses. Rimmer hated Triton. Out of all the colonies in the solar system, it reminded him the most of his home planet of Io, and the less he thought of his childhood home the better. He rapped at the door again, and after a few moments a shirtless, burly man with receding black hair and tattoos appeared on the other side of the plexiglass. He opened the door and peered through it at Rimmer before he answered in a gruff voice, “Yes?” 

Rimmer blinked as he realized that what had appeared to be black hair, was actually a jet black cat who was standing on the man’s shoulders, its lithe body curled around the man’s bald head. 

“Is this…” Rimmer fished the ad out of his pocket and squinted down at the paper. “Fornax’s Felines?”

“Yes, yes it is. I’m Mr Fornax. Are you Mr Rimmer?” The man reached up and scritched under the black cat’s chin.

“Erm… yes. Yes I am.” Rimmer’s eyes scanned over the man’s tattoos and he realized that they featured cats of every shape and size. He tore his gaze away from a bicep tattoo of a particularly fluffy white kitten and looked the man in the eye. “I called about the er…” Rimmer leaned in conspiratorially. “About the cat.”

“Of course! Mr Rimmer, do come in.” The man pushed open the door and as Rimmer stepped in he was assaulted by the smell of cats and a veritable orchestra of mewling. The Tritonian flat was furnished with some of the loudest floral wallpaper Rimmer had ever seen, and nearly every raised surface was occupied with a cat. There were short-haired cats snoozing in the windows, long-haired cats batting at the fringe on the edge of the sofa, and even a couple of hairless cats curling themselves around the legs of the oxygen regulator. “Would you like something to drink? Tea? Milk?” The man held out a saucer and a carton of irradiated milk. 

“No thank you,” Rimmer replied as he wrinkled his nose. “My God, does he drink milk from the saucers along with the cats?” he thought in horror. “This guy's got more loose screws than the skutters.” He breathed a sigh of relief when Mr Fornax put a teacup on the saucer and filled it with milk and tea. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, actually. On the phone, you said you thought you might have a suitable cat for me?”

“Certainly, Mr Rimmer. Just one moment and I’ll go and get her for you. Please sit down,” he said as he put down his tea and gestured to the fringed sofa. “I think you’re going to just love Mrs Featherwinkle.”

“Mrs Featherwinkle?” Rimmer grimaced as he shooed a few cats to clear a space and sat down on the sofa. An orange cat promptly crawled into his lap and began purring. Rimmer stiffened and braced himself on his hands. He’d never felt particularly comfortable around cats. His mother had considered them filthy and aloof and never allowed them in the house. Sometimes he wondered if they had reminded his mother too much of herself. The orange cat rolled onto its back and Rimmer looked down at it quizzically. “What? Do you want something from me?” The cat only purred, and rubbed its face against Rimmer’s knee. 

“That’s Baron Von Floppenfluufen! He wants a tummy rub, yes he does!” Mr Fornax’s voice boomed out as he returned through the doorway, a small black cat tucked under his arm.

“Baron Von…” Rimmer decided to not even bother trying to pronounce the cat’s name and gently began to pat its exposed belly. Baron Von Floppenfluufen purred happily.

“Aww, he likes you. Unfortunately Baron Von Floppenfluufen isn’t for sale.”

“Really? What a pity.” Rimmer cleared his throat as he looked at the cat Mr Fornax had returned with. “Is that the one? Mrs…?”

“Mrs Featherwinkle! Yes, this is her. She’s a darling. I think she’d be absolutely perfect for you.”

Rimmer attempted to shoo the orange cat off of his lap, but he refused to budge. Baron Von Floppenfluufen lay stubbornly, his paws up and his eyes closed. “Erm… could you help me out with this fellow?”

“Come on Baron Von Floppenfluufen! Come, let’s leave the nice man alone.” Mr Fornax gently shoved the orange moggie until he reluctantly flopped to the floor and walked away, clearly offended. Rimmer grimaced at the clumps of orange and white fur left behind on his trouser legs. 

“Now here, what do you think of Mrs Featherwinkle?” Mr Fornax held the black cat out and Rimmer grabbed her under the armpits. He sat awkwardly, like an inexperienced father holding a baby for the first time. Mrs Featherwinkle looked back at him, her green eyes unimpressed.

“So she’s… healthy?”

“Oh yes, very healthy. She’s free of all communicable feline diseases, she’s had all her innoculations, and she’s in the prime of life. And she has such a good temperament. You won’t find a sweeter, more docile cat than Mrs. Featherwinkle.”

“And she’s quiet?” Mrs Featherwinkle began to squirm as Rimmer held her at arm’s length. He dropped her down to his lap and she began to knead at his trouser leg. “I need a cat that will be quiet.” 

“So quiet, you’d think she was a mouse not a cat.” Mr Fornax chuckled at his joke. “So what do you think? Will you take her?”

“Isn’t she a bit… fat?” Rimmer winced as her tiny claws dug into his thigh.

Mr Fornax suddenly put his hands over Mrs Featherwinkle’s ears, “Oh don’t say that! You’re going to hurt her feelings Mr Rimmer! Mrs Featherwinkle isn’t fat, she’s just… fluffy.”

“Are you sure? She seems a tad on the heavy side.” 

“Oh no, I assure you Mr Rimmer, Mrs Featherwinkle is a perfectly average weight for a cat of her er… for a cat of her age.”

“I see. Well…” As Rimmer looked down at the cat’s serene green eyes, he began to panic. “This is mad,” he thought. “What am I doing here? This is never going to work. What am I thinking? Why did I even pick a cat? I should have picked something smaller like a hamster. How am going to sneak her onto the ship? This is ludicrous. I should just forget about the whole thing.”

Rimmer took a deep breath and looked up at Mr Fornax. “Look, I…”

“I hope you’re not thinking of welshing on our little agreement here, Mr Rimmer.” Mr Fornax’s cheerful grin took on a slightly sinister edge as he stared down at Rimmer. 

“What agreement? We didn’t have any agree…”

“You said you needed a cat urgently,” Mr Fornax interjected. “And that’s what you’ve got.” He raised his well-muscled arms and cracked his knuckles like popcorn. 

“Well, yes…” Rimmer swallowed hard as a bitter taste suddenly flooded into his mouth. It took him right back to his childhood, he could almost see his three older brothers circling round him, ready to stuff his head down the toilet. “But you see, I’m having some second thoughts, and…”

“She’s on sale, Mr Rimmer.”  The man flexed his biceps as he leaned down and squeezed Rimmer’s shoulder. “I suggest for the good of all of us, that you take Mrs Featherwinkle home with you.” A deceptively cheerful looking smile spread across his face as the striped cats on his pectoral muscles bounced. “She likes you, and I’d hate to have to see Mrs Featherwinkle… disappointed.” The hand on Rimmer’s shoulder tightened hard enough to make him wince. 

Rimmer’s voice was pinched, as he quickly reached for his wallet. “I’ll take her.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Rimmer was practically vibrating with nervous energy as he prepared to go through Red Dwarf’s security intake. He had his suitcase on one arm, and tucked under the other a massive, feathered, bronze helmet. Rimmer cradled it carefully as he fought against his rising panic. He’d spent the previous night at the Travelodge Triton, building a secret compartment into the helmet’s interior, while trying to keep Mrs Featherwinkle from attacking the feathered plumage. He’d had no trouble getting the cat through customs at the Triton spaceport because all his paperwork on her checked out. Getting her through Red Dwarf’s security was going to be the difficult part, because animals of any sort were strictly forbidden onboard the ship. Just before getting to the security check, he’d ducked into the men’s room and stuffed Mrs Featherwinkle into the helmet along with a few cat treats, then chucked her cat carrier into the bin. Now he stood in line, petrified that he was going to be found out. “Oh god,” he thought. “I’m next! I just know they’re going to find her! I just know it! Why did I ever let that meat-headed, moggy loving maniac strong-arm me into taking her?”

“Welcome back, Rimmer. Do you have anything to declare?” The security guard looked at him with disinterest and hid a yawn behind his hand. 

“No, nothing to declare.” Rimmer’s voice squeaked with hysteria. “Just my luggage.” He tossed his suitcase up on the counter and kept a death grip on the feathered helmet. Rimmer held his breath as the suitcase was pushed through the scanner. He exhaled in relief as it made it to the other side with no alarms triggered.

“What’s that, then?” The guard gestured at the helmet and Rimmer clutched it tighter to his chest, the giant mass of feathers and plumage nearly invading his nostrils.

“What is this?” Rimmer’s voice practically dripped with patronization as he looked down his nose at the guard. “This is a one hundred percent genuine, one of a kind, recreation of Alexander the Great’s war helmet.” 

“Place it on the counter please.”

“NO!” Rimmer pulled the helmet away as the guard reached for it. “I mean… it’s incredibly delicate. I don’t want anyone handling it besides me.”

“Well we do need to scan it.” 

“Didn’t you hear me? A GENUINE, RECREATION of Alexander the Great’s war helmet!”

“Yes, I did hear that.” The guard sighed as he leaned against the counter impatiently.

“Do you know how long ago Alexander the Great’s helmet was forged?”

“Nope, can’t say that I do.”

“Three hundred and thirty four BC! Do you have any conception of what happens to things that were forged in the year three hundred and thirty four BC?”

“I can guess, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me and spare me the effort.”

“They get crumbly! That’s what happens! Just the slightest jostle or jiggle and this whole helmet could just fall to pieces!” 

“I thought you said it was a recreation?” The guard’s brow furrowed as he looked doubtfully at Rimmer.

“It is! And they’ve recreated it down to the smallest detail! It’s just as delicate and fragile as the real helmet would be! One false move and these feather plumes could disintegrate like shortbread dunked in a cup of tea! I’ve got this thing insured for thousands of dollarpounds, and if anything happens to it, if you so much as dent one of the ear guards, or knock one feather out of place, I’ll have to sue the entire Space Corps for damages!” 

“Oh for god’s sake, Rimmer. Why do you always have to be such an insufferable smeghead? Just go on will you? You’re holding up the entire line.” The guard shoved Rimmer’s suitcase at him as he shook his head in disgust.

“Yes!” Rimmer’s brain cried out as he mentally pumped his fists. “Sometimes things do work out for you, Arnie old boy!” He grabbed his suitcase from the counter and ran to flag down the nearest rover.

 

* * *

 

Rimmer breathed a grateful sigh as he opened the door to the sleeping quarters and saw that it was deserted. He hurriedly locked the door behind him and sat down on his bunk with Alexander the Great’s war helmet. “Mrs Featherwinkle,” Rimmer whispered as he unhooked the false compartment in the helmet and opened it up. “Are you all right?” A small black head poked out of the helmet and mewed plaintively as it looked up at Rimmer. “Oh thank goodness. I was worried I hadn’t made the air holes big enough.” She hopped out of the helmet, and sniffed her way around the blankets on Rimmer’s bunk. “Right. So you just… do whatever sort of thing it is that cats do, and I’ll get you set up. Sound good?” Mrs Featherwinkle flopped down on Rimmer’s pillow and began licking at her paws. “OK then.” 

Rimmer snapped open the clasp of his suitcase and pulled out a fluffy cat bed, a bag of cat chow, a pan and a sack of litter, and a water dish. He knelt down and removed the large grate that connected their quarters to the ventilation system that ran the length and breadth of the entire ship. “You’re going to have to hide in here until I get a chance to explain the plan to Dave.” 

Rimmer chatted idly to the cat as he filled up her bowl and litter pan. “You see, that’s the whole reason I got you, is for him. He doesn’t like being in space like this. He never even wanted to join the Space Corps actually. He only joined up because he thought it would be an easy way to get back to Earth. That’s why I decided to get you. He’ll get in trouble once they find he’s keeping a cat in his quarters. They’ll put him into stasis, and he’ll get a free trip back to Earth, just like he wanted. Then Dave will finally be happy, he’ll finally have what he wants. And maybe… just maybe he’ll be able to forgive me, after he sees what I’ve done for him. The lengths I was willing to go to to make him happy. Do you know I could have got caught with you at security? It could have been my neck on the line!” Rimmer splashed some water from the tap into a bowl, and Mrs Featherwinkle hopped down and began to lap at it contentedly. 

Rimmer sat back on his heels as he watched the cat. “I’m sure you’ll like Dave once you meet him. Everybody likes him, he’s not like me at all. Dave could make friends with anyone. I couldn’t even make friends with the penpal I was assigned in primary school back on Io. Do you know, I sent him one letter and he sent me back a drawing of a middle finger with the caption: ‘Rimmer, you’re a git’.” Rimmer shook his head sadly at the recollection. “I don’t even know how he learned that insult. He only spoke Chinese.” Mrs Featherwinkle ignored Rimmer’s story, and began to nibble at her kibble.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter to you, you’re just a cat. Your biggest concern is probably whether you’ve got enough free time to thoroughly lick yourself.” As if on cue, Mrs Featherwinkle stretched up one of her hind legs and began to lick herself. “I suppose if I could lick that part of my anatomy, I wouldn’t have many other concerns either.” Rimmer let out a nervous chuckle as she went back to eating her cat chow. 

“Just between you and me though, you’re my last hope. If I cock this up and can’t make things better between Dave and myself, well… I don’t want to think about that.” Rimmer reached out a hand and scratched Mrs Featherwinkle between the shoulder blades. She purred happily as she turned away from her food dish and plopped into the fluffy cat bed. “Right, well now that we’ve got you sorted, I suppose I’d better try and track down Dave. If you need anything well, just… make some sort of cat noise I suppose?” Mrs Featherwinkle looked up at Rimmer and made a funny chirping sound. “Right, see you then.” Rimmer put the grate back in place, jiggled it a few times to make sure it was secure, and then headed out to try and find Lister.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [cazflibs](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs) for taking over the beta for this! :-)

Rimmer stood anxiously in his hiding place, tucked against the lockers. He had all his weight on his left foot, leaving his right leg free to jiggle like a dog getting its ear scratched. “For smeg’s sake,” he thought. “How long does it take him to respond to a summons?” Rimmer winced at the memory of the twenty-five dollarpounds he’d used to bribe the Communications Officer to call Lister over the PA system. Between the cost of the Triton Travelodge, Mrs Featherwinkle and her assorted kitty paraphernalia, and the genuine recreation of Alexander the Great’s war helmet, getting Lister back to Earth was proving to be costly. At least he got to keep the helmet.

Rimmer’s twitching leg seemed to tick out the seconds as they passed slowly by. Just as he was starting to consider going back and demanding the return of his twenty-five dollarpounds, he heard the stifled mumbles of Lister’s voice as he opened the door. Rimmer’s heart took over for his leg in tapping out the beats of time. Lister failed to notice Rimmer pressed up against the side of the lockers as he stepped into the sleeping quarters. He was carrying a stack of heavy books, and looked around the room in irritation. “What the smeg is going on?” 

“Lister, please I just need you to talk to me for one minute.” Rimmer quickly insinuated himself between Lister and the door, blocking his exit. 

Lister whirled round in surprise, his eyebrows creased in an irritated frown. “Rimmer? What are you doing here? The PA said the Personnel Officer wanted to see me here.” 

“That was me. I bribed the Communications Officer to call you.”

“You what?” Lister glared over the top of his books at Rimmer. 

“I need to speak to you, and I couldn’t think of any other way to get you in here alone because you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No,” Rimmer admitted. “I can’t. But this is important, Lister. Would you please hear me out?”

“What is it? Be quick.” Lister shoved the pile of books into his bunk, and turned back to Rimmer, his hands on his hips as he stood defiantly. 

“I want to help you, Lister. I’ve figured out a way to get you back to Earth.”

“You what? Rimmer, we’re currently orbiting one of Neptune’s moons. How the smeg do you figure to get me back to Earth from here? Thumb a ride with a passing lorry?”

“I’ve thought it all out, and I’ve got a plan to get you home. You’re going to go into stasis.”

“And why would I go into stasis?” Lister crossed his arms over his chest as he stared, incredulous at Rimmer. 

"Don’t worry, I have it all figured out.”

“What is this all about anyway, Rimmer? Why do you suddenly want to help me get back to Earth? What’s your angle here?”

“I don’t have an angle, I swear. I’m just… trying to make things right. Between the two of us I mean.” Mrs Featherwinkle, who had grown tired of being cooped up in the sleeping quarters vent, began to scratch at the grate. 

“What the smeg is that?”

“I’m getting to that...” Rimmer was interrupted by a spirited yowl as the cat decided to give voice to her displeasure. 

“Is that a CAT?”

“Damnit,” Rimmer grumbled as he went to open the grate. “I didn’t want you to see her until I’d had a chance to tell you the whole plan.”

“Plan? What the smeg does a cat have to do with your plan?” The grate swung open and Mrs Featherwinkle stretched out her paws as she rubbed against Rimmer’s shins. Lister’s eyes lit up as he broke into a grin. “Aww, just look at her! She’s adorable! Come here puss, puss!” Lister squatted down and the cat happily trotted over to him. “What’s her name?”

“Mrs Featherwinkle.”

“Mrs Featherwinkle? Ugh,” Lister said as he wrinkled his nose. “You don’t look like a Mrs Featherwinkle do you, darling? Did some stuffy old lady give you that name? Was it Rimmer?” A return insult started to form on Rimmer’s lips before he remembered that he was trying to patch things up with Lister. The cat rubbed happily against Lister’s boots while he stroked her back. “You look more like a Frankenstein. What do you think of that, Frankie?” The cat flopped to the floor agreeably and began to purr. “Hey! She likes it! Frankie it is!”

“I had a feeling you’d like a cat.”

Lister bristled at Rimmer’s comment, as he realized that he’d let the cat momentarily distract him from his anger. “I love cats, we always had them when I was a kid.” Lister scooped the cat into his arms and rubbed a finger under her chin. She purred like a well-lubricated engine. “But what’s this all about, Rimmer? What’s she got to do with me going into stasis and getting back to Earth? This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, Lister!” Rimmer spread out his hands as he laid out his plan. “Unquarantined animals aren’t allowed on the ship. The punishment for bringing an animal onboard is mandatory sentencing to stasis and being discharged from the Space Corps. So we send an anonymous note to the captain about an unquarantined animal being onboard. They’ll run a scan and find the cat in our quarters! We’ll say that you brought her on board, and Bob’s your uncle! Into stasis you’ll go, and when you wake up you’ll be back on Earth! It couldn’t be any simpler!”

“Are you serious, Rimmer?”

“Of course I’m serious! Don’t you think it’s a great plan?”

“No I don’t, Rimmer. I think it’s a crap plan, actually. Why didn’t you ask me about it first before you went and smuggled in a smegging cat?” Lister shook his head as he walked over to his bunk.

The skin on Rimmer’s scalp began to prickle as he realized this conversation with Lister wasn’t going as he imagined it would. Where was the gratitude? Where was the appreciation for his cunning plan? He licked at lips that had suddenly gone very dry. “But… I thought this was what you wanted?” 

“Yeah, when you met me I was desperate to get back to Earth. In case you’d forgotten, I had nowhere to go and was whoring myself out just to survive. Who wouldn’t be desperate in a situation like that?” Lister plopped the cat into his bunk and climbed up beside her. “Do you know what I did back on Earth, Rimmer?”

Rimmer frowned as he realized that he had no idea. “No, actually I don’t.”

“I was the guy who herded up all the shopping trolleys in the car park at  Tesco. I’d been doing it for ten smegging years! I was a loser, Rimmer. I’ve always been a loser. That’s why I wound up on Mimas in the first place! I’d work to get money, and then I’d piss it away at the pubs drinking and messing about with me mates, and then do the same all over again the next day. If I hadn’t spent so much of me life not giving a smeg about anything, maybe I wouldn’t have found myself getting strangers off just so I could eat!” 

The soft curves of Lister’s face were being sharpened by his anger. He focused on the cat so he didn’t have to make eye contact with Rimmer; scratching at the blankets while she batted at his fingers with soft paws. “If I go back to Earth nothing's going to be any different. It’ll be back to the same crap jobs, the same useless mates, the same smeg all over again. I’ll never make anything of meself, and I’ll never get any of the things that I want in life.  Do you even know what I’ve been doing all these weeks, Rimmer?”

Rimmer stiffened at the question. “I assumed you’ve been spending all your time with Ms Kochanski. Aren’t you and her a thing now?”

“Koshanski? Is that what you’ve been thinking all this time?” Lister shook his head in disgust as he picked up one of the large books he’d tossed onto the bed and held it out. Rimmer got a sinking feeling in his chest as he read the blocky font: AstroEngineering 101. 

“I’ve been revising, for the engineering exam, you complete and utter smeghead! Did you really think I’ve been spending all of me spare time shagging Kochanski? What the hell do you think I am, Rimmer?” 

“But that night…” Rimmer stammered as he tried and failed to remain calm. “You said you had a date with her!”

“Yeah, Rimmer. A date. Just one. We fooled around a couple of times, but that’s all it’s been. Why am I even telling you this? It’s none of your smegging business anyway. I’ve been spending all me time in the library, reading and revising. And of course you just assumed that I was spending all me time having it off.”

Rimmer stood in silence. He didn’t know what to say. Lister was right, he had imagined that he was spending all of his time pinned to the wall by Kochanski. His brain had been a constant knot of tension as he pictured the two of them; twisted in as many pornographic pretzels as he could paint in his mind’s eye. Rimmer hung his head in embarrassment. He’d had it all wrong again. He chewed on his lip as anxiety chewed away at the insides of his stomach. Once again he’d tried to do the right thing, and had utterly failed. “I just… I thought…”

“No, Rimmer. You didn’t think at all. That’s your smegging problem. You either don’t think at all, or you only think about yourself. I mean did you ever even think about the cat?” Lister scooped Frankenstein up from the bedclothes and cuddled her into his lap. “What do you think’s going to happen to her if she’s not allowed to be on the ship?”

A sickly, sour taste began to form in the back of Rimmer’s mouth. He’d never contemplated what the cat’s fate might be after his great plan went into effect. He’d been so fixated on making things right, that he’d not thought of the big picture. He glanced up at Lister who was rubbing the cat’s belly, his brow furrowed with worry. “I… I hadn’t thought about the cat. I…” 

“Rimmer,” Lister interrupted as he shot his bunkmate a stricken look. “Did you realize she’s up the duff?”

Rimmer’s mouth pursed into a perfect ‘o’ of bewilderment. “She’s what?”

“She’s pregnant! And pretty far along too by the looks of her.”

“She can’t be pregnant, she’s just fat! Isn’t she?” Rimmer thought back to Mr Fornax and how eager he had been to be rid of the cat, and how he’d brushed off Rimmer’s concerns about her weight.

“Rimmer, I’ve had cats before, and this cat has definitely got a full membership to the pudding club. I can feel the babies knocking about in there.”

“Oh smeg.” Rimmer clapped his hands over his face.  _ This can’t be happening, this can’t possibly be happening. I can’t have cocked up THIS badly. I just can’t have. I must be asleep, I just need to pinch myself and I’ll wake up.  _ Keeping his eyes squinched shut, he pinched his cheek hard. A memory of his mother floated to the surface of his brain at the sensation.  _ “You’ll never amount to anything will you, Rimmer?”  _ That’s what she would say to him as she squeezed his skin between her thumb and forefinger.  _ She was right, wasn’t she?  _

“Rimmer? What’s going to happen to her if they find her?”

_ Smeg,  _ Rimmer thought as he realized that the pinching wasn’t making him snap back to reality. He groaned as he sank to the floor, tucked his head between his knees and pulled it down tight with his hands. 

“Rimmer? I want you to answer me. What’s going to happen to the cat?”

Rimmer sighed onto his boot tops as he avoided looking up at Lister. “They’ll destroy her. First they’ll kill her, and then they’ll dissect her so they can examine her for any parasites or pathogens. Anything that could put the crew in danger.”

Lister cuddled the cat to him protectively. “Smegging hell, Rimmer. How could you have thought I’d be ok with any of this?”

Rimmer raised his head wearily. “I swear to you Lister, I just didn’t think about it. You’re right, I guess I don’t ever think things through. I was so fixated on you… I never even thought about what would happen to the cat.”

“And all the babies too. Unbelievable. Unbe-smegging-lievable.”

“Oh god,” Rimmer muttered as he dropped his head back to his knees. “I’m a kitten murderer.”

“Not if I can help it, you’re not. Can’t you bring her back? Take her back to wherever you got her? We’re still docked outside of the colony on Triton.”

“I can’t, and neither can you. You’ve got to apply for leave at least a week in advance, and I’ve already taken mine. Even if we apply today, by the time we’re approved we’ll already have left for the mining outpost.” Rimmer felt absolutely defeated. He’d tried to do everything right and now he didn’t know how to fix this, now that everything had gone so pear-shaped.

“Smeg,” Frankenstein wormed her way out of Lister’s embrace, plopped on his pillow and began to groom her paws. “Well then there’s only one thing we can do. We’ll keep her, and we won’t let anyone know she’s here. When we can’t be here with her, we’ll hide her in the vents. She’s so small, they shouldn’t be able to find her when they run the regular security scans. Once the ship comes back to the colony in a few months, we can smuggle her and the kittens back.”

“Her AND the kittens?” 

“Wha’? You didn’t fancy keeping them did you?”

“No! But… it’s only going to be a few months, won’t they still be… cooking in there?”

Lister shook his head as he rubbed his brow. “How long do you think cats stay pregnant for, Rimmer? She’s probably only got a few weeks to go at most.” 

“My god. You mean we’re going to have to be here when she… you know?”

“Who else do you think? Unless you think the skutters are somehow well-versed in cat midwifery?”

“But I don’t know the slightest thing about cats or giving birth!”

“Well you’ve got a few weeks to learn, then.” Lister gave Frankenstein a final scratch behind the ears and hopped down off of his bunk. “I’ve got to get back and keep studying. Me exam’s at the end of the week.” He started plucking his books from the bed like fruit and piling them into his arms. “If you leave, make sure you lock her into the ventilation system. We can’t have anyone else finding out about her.” 

“You mean you’re just going to leave me here with her? What if…” Rimmer wrinkled up his nose in the cat’s direction. “What if she… you know… bursts?”

“Oh for smeg’s sake, Rimmer. She’s not going to burst just yet. And it’s your own smegging fault she’s here. You made your bed, you can damn smegging well lie in it.” 

“Yes, yes all right. I know, I’ve brought all this onto myself.” Rimmer sighed as he dragged his fingers through his curls, teasing them practically to the ceiling. “Look, why don’t you just stay here and study? I’ll leave you in peace and you can use my desk.”

Lister cocked his head as he looked at Rimmer suspiciously. “What’s the angle this time?” 

“No angle,” Rimmer replied as he hurriedly threw on his jacket. “I’m just going to go to the library and see if there are any books called: ‘What to do when you’ve smegged up absolutely everything, AND you’ve got a big, giant smegging pregnant cat to worry about’.” 

Lister had to stifle a chuckle as his bunkmate left the sleeping quarters. “God, Rimmer. You really are such a smeghead. Isn’t that right, Frankie?”

Frankenstein laid her head back on Lister’s pillow and purred. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the always lovely janamelie & the ever wonderful cazflibs for assuring my tired brain and beta-ing this chapter! :-)

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Rimmer’s pulse was thundering away in his ears like a bass drum as he closed the door to First Officer Todhunter’s office. It had been five stress-filled days since he’d brought the cat onboard Red Dwarf, and the nervous tremble in his leg had since evolved into a full-blown spasm. Todhunter gestured for him to take a seat and Rimmer lurched across the room like Victor Frankenstein’s limping assistant as he struggled to keep his leg under control.

“Is everything alright, Rimmer?”

Rimmer’s face took on a waxy sheen as his pallor deepened. “Why of course everything is alright! Why wouldn’t everything be alright?” _Oh God, he knows about the cat! He knows!_

“Is your leg injured?”

“Injured, sir?”

“You appear to be limping.”

“Oh that?” Rimmer let out an eerie burst of hysterical laughter. “That’s just this twitch I have.” He let out another nervous titter as he crossed his leg in an attempt to mask the tremor. “It’s nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.”

Todhunter gave Rimmer a sideways glance before returning to the papers on his desk. “I’ve called you down here on some very serious business, Rimmer.”

 _Serious business? Oh my god, oh my smeg, it IS about the cat! They do know about her! We’ve been found out! Oh this is it, the end of my career!_ Rimmer gulped heavily, his saliva getting bunged up against the boulder that had suddenly appeared in his throat. “Serious business, sir?”

“Yes, quite serious. Last night the scans picked up an unidentified life form on the ship.”

_SMEG! SMEG! SMEG! SMEG! SMEG! SMEG!_

“Rimmer are you certain you’re all right? You’ve gone quite pale.”

 _Oh God he must know it’s me! He must!_ Rimmer’s right leg gave a particularly large twitch and kicked a stack of papers off of Todhunter’s desk.

“For God’s sake, Rimmer! What on Earth is wrong with you?” The officer spluttered as he grabbed at handfuls of papers as they fluttered to the floor.

“NOTHING IS WRONG!” Rimmer cleared his throat hurriedly once he realized he was shouting. “Why would anything be wrong? Everything is absolutely perfect, and splendid, and tickety boo.”

Todhunter looked at him doubtfully from across the desk. “Are you certain? You’re acting very peculiar, even for you.”

“I’m absolutely fine! What could possibly be wrong with me?!” Rimmer pinched his face into a ghastly grimace, as he attempted to smile reassuringly at Todhunter. The First Officer cringed at Rimmer’s expression and quickly averted his eyes to scribble at a form on his desk.

“Well as I was saying, the scans picked up a non-human life form...”

_OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH…_

“...And I wanted to speak with you because…”

_OH SMEG THIS IS IT!_

“...I wanted you to tell everyone on Z-shift…”

Rimmer's hysteria burst out of him like water from a collapsed dam. “Why do you want ME to tell them?! I don’t know anything, sir! I swear!” Rimmer moaned and clutched at his curls as he began to mutter to himself like a madman. “Oh smeg, it’s all because of Lister! This never would have happened if it weren’t for him! Why do I always do this to myself?! Why do I always make things worse?!” Rimmer turned towards Todhunter, his face pale and his eyes bulging as he pleaded with the officer. “I swear I don’t know anything about the cat!”

Todhunter regarded Rimmer coolly as the technician shrank back in his chair after his outburst. “Who said anything about a cat, Rimmer?”

Rimmer’s mouth hung open, his lower lip shaking like a wet dog. “Wh… what cat?”

“You just mentioned a cat.”

“Erm… ah… I…”

“Is there something you’d like to tell me, Rimmer?”

Rimmer did what he always did when he found himself backed into a corner. He panicked, and scarpered. Without giving Todhunter another moment to consider what he’d said, he sprang from his chair and bolted through the door. Todhunter sighed as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “For this I left the Infinity Patrol,” he muttered as he reached for his phone.

 

* * *

 

“Lister! Lister!” Rimmer screamed as he caroomed through the bunkroom door. “Lock! Lock!”

“What, man?” Lister grumbled as he looked up from Rimmer’s desk. “I’m memorizing circuitry diagrams here.”

“We’ve been found out, Lister! They know! They know!”

“Know wha’?”

“They know about the cat!” As if on cue, Holly suddenly appeared on the vid-screen, his bald head shining ominously.

“Would First Technician Arnold Rimmer, and Third Technician David Lister please report to Captain Hollister's office.”

“Oh smeg,” they both said in unison as Holly’s face faded to black.

“What happened?” Lister hissed as Rimmer paced the room, his fingers digging into his hair like tree roots.

“I panicked. Todhunter called me in and I panicked.”

“You didn’t tell him anything, did you?”

“I just told you! I PANICKED!” Rimmer held his hands out in despair as he screamed at Lister.

“What did you tell him, Rimmer?”

“Oh I’m such an idiot.”

“WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM?”

Rimmer fell to the floor, a tangle of long legs and distraught arms. Frankie crawled out from under the desk, climbed into his lap and mewed loudly. “I told him about the cat.”

“So they know about Frankie?”

“Todhunter told me the ship’s scans had picked up a non-human life form. I got so nervous about being found out that I just started babbling and mentioned the cat.” Rimmer groaned as he pressed his head into Frankie’s furry back. “I’m a complete and utter moron.”

“Well what’s done is done. There’s only one thing we can do,” Lister muttered as he undid the grate that led to the ventilation system.

“What’s that?” Rimmer’s voice was muffled by cat fluff.

“We’ve got to get her out of here,” Lister replied as he crawled into the small space. About a yard back, there was a smaller grate, just big enough for Frankie to fit through. Lister pulled out a pocket knife, undid the screws and popped it off.

“What are you doing in there?”

Lister peered into the darkness of the air vent. It slanted away like a child’s slide. It would have to do. “We’ve got to make sure they don’t find her in here. Otherwise they’ll kill her.” Lister crawled back into the room, and brushed the dust off of his hands. “It’s the only chance she’s got.”

Rimmer nudged Frankie from his lap and crawled over to the open grate. “You want to put her down there? But what if it goes to an incinerator or something?”

“We haven’t got any other choice, Rimmer. If we keep her in here they’ll find her, and then she’ll be dead for sure. At least in the vents she’s got a chance. Maybe she’ll be able to find her way to the storage decks? It’s the best option we’ve got, for her and the babies. C’mon, Frankie.” Lister clicked his tongue and she meowed as he scooped her up.

“Can I say goodbye first?” Rimmer asked forlornly.

“Just make it quick, Holly’s going to be barking at us again if we don’t leg it.”

Rimmer straightened up and scratched his fingers behind the cat’s ears. “Goodbye, Frankie. I’m sorry for putting you through all of this.”

“Yeah. So am I,” Lister echoed as he swallowed back the lump in his throat. He kissed the top of Frankenstein’s head before squirming his way back through the opening. His experiences with cats as a youngster had taught him that you couldn’t dawdle or hesitate when it came to shoving them into a small space. Lister quickly lifted her up and popped her through the opening before she had a chance to protest. She yowled as she slid down, scrabbling at the smooth metal sides of the air shaft as she disappeared into the darkness. “I’m so sorry, Frankie,” Lister sniffled as he screwed the grate back in place. “I hope you can manage ok down there.”

Lister rubbed his eyes on his sleeve as he crawled his way back into the sleeping quarters. “Are you alright?” Rimmer asked.

“No, Rimmer. I’m not.” Lister snapped as he swept past him and through the door.

 

* * *

 

“Ok boys, I’m going to keep this short and to the point.” A shadow covered Lister and Rimmer as Captain Hollister leaned over them ominously. “Where is the cat?”

“Cat?” Lister crossed his arms behind his head as he leaned back casually. “What cat?”

Seated next to him, Rimmer couldn’t have looked any less casual. He sat in his chair ramrod stiff, his right leg jiggling so hard it could have drilled into the floor. “Is there anything you’d like to add to the discussion, Rimmer?” Hollister crossed over to Rimmer and stood with his hands on his ample hips. “Todhunter tells me that you mentioned a cat?”

“C-c-c-c-cat?” Rimmer stuttered as the shaking from his leg rippled its way through his entire body

“Don’t bother to lie about it, Rimmer. We can always go over the security footage from Todhunter’s office. Now spill it.” The technician’s chair shook as the captain slapped his palms onto the armrests and leaned into Rimmer’s face. “Where is the cat?”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Lister rang out cheerfully. “He’s gone a bit mental y’see. Sir.”

“Can it, Lister. I wasn’t talking to you.”

“He’s been spending too much time revising for his exams. He hasn’t been sleeping, hasn’t been eating. I’m tellin’ you he’s cracking up, man. Aren’t you, Rimmer?”

“Erm… well, I…” Rimmer’s buggy-eyed stare of panic certainly made him look the part of a man going out of his mind.

“Y’see, sir? I told you.”

“Keep your trap shut, Lister!” Lister cringed as flecks of spittle flew from Hollister’s mouth as he shouted. “Now I’m going to ask you one more time, Rimmer. Where. Is. The cat?”

Rimmer’s face grew more pale under the captain’s onslaught. He grabbed ahold of his leg with both hands and attempted to stop the jiggling.

“You’ve just got to look at him!” Lister leaned across to Rimmer and grabbed his face firmly in his hand. “Is this the face of a man who is in his right mind?” Rimmer attempted to shake his head, his cheeks squelching in Lister’s fingers.

“You know I’ve just about had it with the two of you,” Hollister gnashed his teeth in anger as he walked back behind his desk. “Ever since you came on board this ship, Lister, you have been causing nothing but trouble.”

“Me? What have I done?” Lister shouted, genuinely affronted as he let go of Rimmer’s face.

“I haven’t had a single week go by without SOMETHING going on between the two of you. I’ve had complaints from every single crewmember within a quarter mile radius of your quarters, complaining about the noise of you two fighting with one another.” Hollister pointed an accusatory finger at Rimmer before he continued. “You write Lister up a minimum of twice a day for minor offenses that are drowning our personnel in reams of unnecessary paperwork. AND you assaulted an officer with pot noodles!”

“It was actually chicken soup, sir,” Rimmer replied guiltily.

“Whatever. On top of all of that, suddenly Lister is using the airlocks without authorization.”

“It was just the one time!”

“You wasted about twenty pounds worth of perfectly good chocolate, Lister! I was personally offended! Not to mention that for the last two months Z-Shift has been an absolute disaster! The vending machines aren’t functioning properly, the toilets aren’t being properly maintained. And now, to top it all off, I find out that the two of you have somehow managed to bring a cat onboard!”

“Look, this has nothing to do with me!” Lister cried out as he held up his hands.

“He… he’s right, sir.” Rimmer interjected. “It was…”

“Shut it, Rimmer! I don’t want to hear it! The two of you have been nothing but trouble on this ship for ages now and I have had enough. Now I don’t know what sort of weird relationship you have going on with one another. Maybe you get off on this antagonistic back and forth stuff...”

“We’re NOT in a relationship!” Lister interjected.

“...But whatever your romantic inclinations might be,” Hollister shot Lister a murderous gaze as he cut him off. “Behavior like this has no place on this ship. Bringing onboard an unquarantined animal is the last straw. That could jeopardize every member of this entire crew! I mean for god’s sake, who knows what kind of parasites or diseases that thing could be crawling with!”

“She doesn’t have any parasites, sir!” Rimmer blurted out without thinking.

“Rimmer!” Lister hissed through his teeth.

“So you DO admit that there’s a cat! Now tell me where it is NOW, or it’s over for the two of you!”

“Don’t you DARE say a word,” Lister muttered out of the corner of his mouth as he crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest. Rimmer remained silent, as he refused to meet the captain’s eyes.

“All right. That’s it! I’m through with playing games with the two of you, so I’m putting both of you in stasis.”

“Stasis?” Lister sat up in his chair, his face crestfallen. “But I’ve got me engineering exam tomorrow! I’ve been revising for months!”

“Please, sir. Don’t take this out on Lister. I assure you, he’s completely innocent.”

“I don’t need you defending me, Rimmer!” Lister snapped in annoyance.

“I’m trying to help here!”

“I don’t need any help from you! When has you trying to help me ever worked out?! You’re the whole reason we’re in this mess!”

“But I’m trying to make it better here! It’s not my fault the captain’s got his big flabby head jammed firmly up his doughnut-fattened arse!”

Hollister’s face had gone aubergine with fury and his purple cheeks wobbled as he shouted. “That’s a demotion right there, Rimmer!”

“What?!” Rimmer’s face went ashy as he looked back at the Captain.

“Consider yourself second technician from now on. If you’re even allowed to remain in the Space Corps after this mess!”

“But, sir!”

“That’s ENOUGH!” Hollister cried out as he went back to his desk and grabbed some forms. “We are done here, gentlemen.” He jammed a meaty finger into the button on his desk intercom unit. “Todhunter? Take these boys to the stasis booths.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s just down this way, gentlemen.”

“I know the way to the stasis booths, sir!” Rimmer huffed as he and Lister followed alongside First Officer Todhunter dejectedly.

“Don’t take it out on him, Rimmer. He’s just doing his job.”

“My career is over, Lister. Everything I’ve worked for for the last twelve years has suddenly gone down the tubes. Forgive me for not being particularly cheerful!”

“It’s your own smegging fault. You’re the one that’s got us into this mess.”

“Well, thanks for that, Lister. I need to be reminded of that just about as much as I need to be reminded of where the damned stasis booths are!”

“C’mon lads, nobody likes having to do this.” Todhunter said as they finally reached the booths.

“Is this going to hurt?” Lister asked, his brow slightly furrowed. “I mean not that I’m worried, I can take it. I just want to be prepared.”

“You’ve never travelled interstellar before?” Todhunter replied as he opened the doors to both booths.

“Wouldn’t’ve asked if I had.”

“Well don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing. The stasis room simply creates a static field which time cannot penetrate.” Todhunter gestured enthusiastically with his hands as he explained, “Since time can’t penetrate the stasis field, while you’re in one you…”

“Look could we skip the science lesson and simply get on with this?” Rimmer interrupted irritably.

“Oh forget it, let’s just do this thing before Rimmer here throws a wobbly,” Lister muttered as he stepped past Todhunter and into the first open stasis booth. Rimmer quickly stomped his way into the second.

“Alright then. Good luck chaps.” Todhunter smiled at both of them as he closed the doors and locked the hatches. “Holly, engage the stasis field.”

“You’ve got it, Frank.” Lister and Rimmer’s faces froze in matching expressions of disgust in the stasis booth windows.

 

* * *

 

Several miles below in the bowels of the ship, Frankenstein mewed as she chewed and scratched her way into a cardboard box packed to the brim with vacuum-sealed containers of tuna and salmon. She seized a large packet of fine white albacore in her mouth, and carried it triumphantly back to the crate of uniforms where she’d decided to set up camp. As she worked her sharp teeth through the thin layer of foil, a familiar feeling of tightness and pain lanced across her belly. She thought nothing of it, and simply continued to gnaw away at her tuna packet. She had a warm place to sleep, and plenty of fish to eat. As far as Frankenstein was concerned, everything was going to be just fine.


End file.
